


Unharrowed

by ForeverWhimsy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Circle of Magi, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mage Rebellion, Mages and Templars, Memories, Minor Character Death, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverWhimsy/pseuds/ForeverWhimsy
Summary: "Unharrowed” is a prequel to Inquisition. It is Part 1 of 3, where Part 1 is mildly AU before resuming Canon events for Parts 2 and 3."Ellaria Trevelyan, an unharrowed mage, has escaped Ostwick for the last time. They’d put her to the Rite or to death if she weren’t of noble blood. Instead, the Ostwick Circle has begged Acting Knight-Commander Cullen to see if there’s anything he can do with her. Ellaria, already terrified of the mistreatment she’s suffered by Templars is reluctant to open up, just as Cullen--who doesn’t want a repeat of Solona Amell on his hands--tries to keep her at arm's length. But they just can’t seem to stay away from each other.





	1. Ellaria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: References past non-con, non-graphic but heavily influences character development

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[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/168763924@N04/46604950372/in/dateposted/)

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        Ellaria Trevelyan had a lot to be thankful for. The fact that she was still alive despite living in a Circle of Magi on the brink of war, for one. Her blatant disregard for their rules and regulations would’ve earned her the Brand six times over by now, but he’d never allowed that. Her ever-watchful savior whose eyes made her skin crawl and whose hands brought gooseflesh to her pale skin. Her captor, her tormentor. Maybe she should be thankful for him…that slimy, hot mouthed Templar…After all, if not for him she’d probably be Tranquil by now, but…no. She owes him nothing. He took more from her than she ever thought possible and she would make certain it would never happen again. Not after tonight.  
         She let the pounding rain wash away her shame and rage as she crouched in the shadow of the stone gate that marked the border of the Circle. None of that mattered anymore, all she had to do was get away from the Circle, get away from...him. She retched, hardly aware she’d fallen forward until her hands sunk into mud, a thick layer of grit and grime up to her wrists. She tried her best to clean her hands on her cloak and wiped at the corner of her mouth. A quick peek around the stone gate showed an open field—an open field that led to the safety of darkness under the bridge that led to Ostwick proper. Distant sounds of a Templar’s boots sounded against the wet stone and her head filled with images of the last few hours. A throaty laugh, ‘Naught to save you now, Dove,’ he had taunted her. Hot blue light sparked at her fingertips and she plunged her hands into her cloak. She squeezed her eyes tight against the unbidden memories, but it was to no avail. Soulless black eyes stared back at her as his weight pressed down. She choked back a sob, knowing that the spark between her fingers had grown to a dancing arc up to her elbow. Lasa ma ghilana, Mythal.    
         The short prayer seemed to quiet her mind as well as her surroundings. Ellaria could only hear the distant clanging of the guards’ boots against the slick bridge instead of the horrors of the night as though they were replaying right in front of her. Once her breath steadied, she counted the boot clangs, measuring when she could emerge from her hiding spot behind the stone wall and cross the muddy field. After several minutes of patient waiting, the two guards were making their way to the far side of the bridge for the fourth time—she had to time her escape just right—when a sharp spasm snaked up her thigh. She’d crouched for too long waiting for just the right opening and now her legs cramped and shuddered with the slightest movement. Creators know she’d only get more stiff waiting any longer…  
         With a brief glance and another listen, Ellaria knew her chances weren’t going to get any better. She stood to her full height and a smile flashed across her features at the relief of the leg cramp. Unfortunately, she couldn’t relish the tension leaving her muscle. She hadn’t taken two steps when a bell began to ring in the distance, a piercing sound that quickened her pulse and brought her heart to her throat. It was now or never and Ellaria would die before going back into that Circle, back to him. She tightened her cloak’s latch and her grip on the small bag she’d managed to pack, and ran for the safety of darkness beneath the bridge.  
         Her footfalls thundered, echoing the angry rumble in the sky. With every step her heart hammered against her ribcage, harder, harder, harder, knowing that she was in full view of anyone who cared to look. If she didn’t reach the lip of the bridge soon, she’d be hauled back in chains. She’d never escape the Rite this time…lost forever in a world that wasn’t her own, noble name and the pet of a Templar be damned. She was a few steps from the outcropping, but the guards had already crossed nearly halfway based on the resounding clang of their boots. She wasn’t going to make it, she wasn’t—  
         A guard shouted. No, _he_ shouted. Her blood ran cold and fingers sizzled against the rough spun fabric of her cloak. She felt her back slam into the jagged rock wall under the bridge before she realized the guard was still shouting, running just overhead.  
         “She’s gone again!”  
          “Who?”  
         Ellaria never heard her Templar confirm that she was, in fact, the runaway. The heavy rains, while perfect cover for her escape, made the silt beneath her feet sodden and unstable. The ground crumbled under her and the world turned on edge as she careened toward the water of the cold, choppy inlet. Unable to garner purchase, she focused all her attention on making as little splash as possible, pointing her feet and hugging her belongings to her as she slid into the water. The icy water sucked the air from her lungs like frozen tendrils twining their way around her neck, their vice-like grip denied even the smallest movement of air. Her mind fogged as she struggled, the weight of her robes and the wet hand of a long forgotten drowned god pulled her beneath the turbulent waters. She lost her bearings more quickly than she thought possible; without knowing which way was up, she kicked frantically as what little oxygen she held in her body bled out of her. The hard burn that had been building since her submersion neared insufferable levels, moving from her lungs to her throat and rested in a painful bulge behind her eyes. Bright, white and red lights bloomed in the darkness. She desperately fought the urge to open her mouth and inhale, but she was sure she couldn’t last much longer. Her fervent kicks became short, tired bursts. She was dwindling. She would’ve said her silent goodbyes, had she anyone to part with. Not a moment later, through what could only have been the grace of Sylaise—hell, she was so thankful, she’d pray to the Maker if someone told her he was responsible—her body righted itself, bringing her to the surface. She was overwhelmed with joy which was quickly replaced with worry when she couldn’t stop her body from sucking in a deep, painful, much too audible breath of air.  
         Ellaria clutched onto the bank, fingers digging deep into the dirt, readjusting every few seconds as she sought for better grip. Once her breathing normalized and she had mostly recovered from the sudden submersion, she lifted only enough of her head out of the water to hear if any of the guards had been alerted to her position. Unable to see much of Ostwick, aside from the towering walls and underside of the bridge, she had to trust that the retreating clang, clang, clang of armored boots meant the guards were running back into the Circle to plan their full-scale mage hunt.  
        With little time to decide otherwise, Ellaria continued to swim down the inlet hoping she could find a tavern along the coast and make her way west before too many city guards were alerted to her escape.

  
:::

  
         The nightlife along the docks burst with orders and slurs barked between the workers as they unloaded three new supply shipments from Orlais. Disguised by the commotion, Ellaria easily sidled by the crates cracked open for inspection and plucked out a fresh dry cloak and some leathers, her brow scrunching as she hoped and prayed the pair on top fit her.  
         Free from the dripping robes that labeled her a Circle runaway, she drew in a deep breath fully taking in her surroundings for the first time. To her back lay the bay and the bustling docks, while surrounding much of the town—if you could call it that—towered forests that clung to the last of their leaves. The only sign of life in this area of the town was a dusty tavern with a lantern hanging above the door illuminating the cracked wooden sign with peeling paint that read, ‘      lly’s Ta rn.’ Ellaria grumbled, but the as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers, and her empty stomach hoped that their menu fared better than their sign.  
         It didn’t.  
         The menu certainly left something to be desired. She ordered what she could afford with what money she’d managed to scrounge up in the nooks and crannies of the Circle, but knowing she’d be on the road again she only let herself eat a small portion of the hard crusted bread and waxed cheeses. However, even the meager menu was five-star dining compared to the company. The only other souls who wandered into the tavern that night were three men who kept eying her warily while they chattered in hushed tones; several times throughout the course of her meal they’d even called the bartender over to them and all four men stared at her from their huddle.  
         Her cheeks heated as she saw the bartender throw a look over his shoulder. He pushed off the counter, nodding at the men and made his way over to Ellaria, clearing his throat loudly. “Anything else I can get you, miss?”  
         Creators, he’s had to have checked up on her four times since she ordered her bread and cheese.  
         “No, really, I’m fine.” Her nerves got the better of her and she felt her mild blush turn crimson.  
         The barkeep sauntered back to the men, muttering and shaking his head. An argument broke out among the men, who seemed to disagree vehemently, their glances less concealed than before.  
         Ellaria’s hair raised to stand on end and she felt the familiar burn at the tip of her fingers. A subtle blue spark ignited seconds after she buried her hand in her cloak. They knew. Instinctually, Ellaria searched the bar for anything she could use to defend herself, her breath hitching as dark, unseemly eyes and a familiar smirk poke through her memory again. Not now, please not now. She stood, laying whatever few bronze bits she owed on the counter, and made to leave.  
         Two of the patrons at the bar stood and followed her toward the door.  
They weren’t wearing city guard uniforms nor were they Templars, but…what if they were off-duty guards? Either way, a scene in a local tavern this close to Ostwick Circle was the last thing Ellaria needed. She quickened her pace to the door.  
         Too late.  
         A rough, dirty hand slammed the door shut, pulling the handle from her grip with his force.  
         “Can I help you, gentlemen?” She looked at the ground, hoping the hood of her cloak would keep most of her features hidden. They wouldn’t have had time to release a likeness. Although…Of course. They used her Missing Apostate flier from the last time she tried to escape, it had only been a few months ago. They’d dragged her back clapped in irons and the smug grin that spread across his face when she crossed back into the Circle that night…  
         “Oye! I’s talkin’ to you!” The man yelled in her ear and she recoiled away from the smell of hot ale. “You’s that spellbind, aren’t you?”  
         The doorknob she’d been staring at suddenly became two doorknobs and she teetered on her spot, her arm still awkwardly outstretched toward the exit. Insults? Fenedhis, she didn’t think they’d say something like that. She should have been prepared for it, though, what with all the abuse the Templars had slung at the mages since the chantry explosion, but she’s just a woman in a bar and…  
         She felt her rage coil hot in her belly for only a blink before her fingers crackled and a white-hot ball of lightning shot out from them. Oh, for the love of…  
The two men scurried backward at the sound of the lightning crack, arms covering their heads, cowering in fear. A brief flash of remorse shame for the sheer giddiness that filled her at the sight of them cowing to her power, but she finally stood a free woman. Free from Ostwick, free from his grasp, and she wasn’t going back. Taking advantage of the men’s shock, she grabbed the smaller one’s daggers from the less-than-sturdy makeshift sheath on his back. She looked up, eyes catching with the terrified barkeep from across the room.  
        “I’m sorry. It was an accident,” and with that, she fled out into the black night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translation: Give me guidance


	2. Cullen

        Cullen bolted awake and wretched into an empty chamber pot. The hot bile burned his throat long after it was gone.   
“Ser?”   
He startled.   
“Sorry, Ser.” Cullen’s second in command, Knight Captain Rylen, looked at the ground sheepishly.   
“Pay it no mind, Rylen. Just another one.” He mopped his forehead, his blond curls hanging limply with sweat.   
“I know I’ve-,” Rylen began but stopped to breathe a few times seemingly trying to garner the courage to finish his suggestion. “Shouldn’t you go see the healer?” Rylen took a step backward as Cullen bored into him with hard eyes, red from lack of sleep and sick.   
“There’s nothing they can do for me, Rylen. Nightmares stay as long as they wish and then they can return on a whim.” His eyes darkened as he tried to recall the stretch of sleep he was awarded without his memories haunting his dreams. He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to erase both the mental and physical distress the night had left him. “Why are you even here?” The words came out harsher than he meant and he feels a pang of guilt when Rylen handed him the water goblet he’d been straining to reach on his desk.   
“Oh, right. This came by horse courier.”   
Cullen outstretched his hand for the letter without waiting for further details. “Light a candle, would you, Rylen?” But before the last word left his lips, his bedroom was awash in a warm, yellow glow from a solitary candle across the room.   
Cullen cracked the wax seal making note of the Kestrel stamp, Ostwick Circle’s emblem. A small gasp escaped his parted lips as the letter unfolded, revealing a drawing of a young woman, a beautiful woman. One he’d seen before. No, that wasn’t right. Ellaria, the paper read. Ellaria Trevelyan. He’d never met an Ellaria before, but the resemblance was striking and unsettling.   
“What is it, Ser?”   
“When did you get this?” Cullen laid the missive on his cot and tugged his shirt on impatiently.   
“Half-hour, if that, Knight Commander.”   
“Good man.” Rylen beamed at his superior’s praise and Cullen fought off his own lopsided smile. “This isn’t something we can wait on, Rylen,” he chose his words carefully. “Ostwick seeks our help in apprehending an apostate.”   
Rylen’s forehead wrinkled and he teetered on his booted toes as if he were uncertain if he should move or ask a question.   
“What is it, Rylen?” Cullen sunk back onto the bed to wrestle with the last stubborn buckle of his greaves.   
“Ostwick is a ways off, Ser. Do they think she’s made it all the way to Kirkwall?”   
“No, not exactly. She’s run away from Ostwick three times previously. They want her…” he trailed off as he stared at the likeness resting beside him. Maker, but they could be twins. He coughed into his hand when he notices Rylen watching him admire the paper. When he was certain his voice wouldn’t waver, he continued, “They want her transferred to the Gallows upon apprehension.” He swallowed, the bile rising at the back of his throat again.   
“Do you know her, Ser? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Rylen cocked his head to the side, first at Cullen and then at the missive resting between them.   
“No, she just reminds me of someone.”   
“Aye, reminds me of someone I’d like to get to know better,” Rylen grinned stupidly at Cullen.   
“Rylen,” Cullen dragged out the syllables in his deep baritone, a warning, but he smiled just the same. “Maker’s breath, go get started on rounds.” Cullen stood, shoved him out the door laughing, but called after him, “You better shape up by the time we find her!”   
Rylen turned around to salute him while running down the hall, but tripped over his own feet causing a calamitous noise that roused a few other Templars from their quarters.    
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the racket to subside. He’d be leaving his Circle in Rylen’s hands while he searched for this ‘Ellaria.’ He knew Rylen had a good head on his shoulders, despite evidence to the contrary. But he worried about him just the same. He turned back to lock the door to his quarters and couldn’t help but stare at the missive again. The resemblance was uncanny, almost eerie. Ellaria looked so much like Solona his heartbeat quickened just by looking at the charcoal sketch. But there was something different about her, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  
:::

  
A flash of blue light illuminated the copse of trees as Cullen heard raised voices quickly swallowed by a loud crash. So much for quietly apprehending the apostate. Cullen growled and steeled himself for whatever confrontation awaited him. He broke through the tree line into a small clearing, hardly large enough to fit the two Templars who were scrapping with the petite dual-wielding rogue.   
“Men, what are—,” he began to admonish, but then he felt it, the gentle hum of the rogue’s magic. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt at the Circle before. Usually, when magic reacted to the lyrium in his blood, it created an uncomfortable buzz that grated against his veins, thrumming and pulsing ceaselessly with each wave of power the mage called forth from the Fade. This was different; like a birdsong, inconsistent yet melodic, lacking the volatile aftertaste that he usually encountered.   
He watched her curiously with his arms crossed over his chest, appraising her combat skill. She dove lithely between his Templars, avoiding each of their strikes. She rolled across the leaf-strewn ground, her long black hair picking up a few hitchhikers along the way. The senior officer Darach Masters, as burly and tall as he was mean, lifted his shield and pushed toward her as she made to stand. She wasn’t close enough to be knocked back by the shield, but it was enough to throw her off balance. She teetered and turned on her heel ready to try her luck at outrunning them. However, instead of running into the expanse of the forest as she had anticipated, the young woman slammed directly into Cullen’s towering form. Her daggers clattered against his metal chest plate and then dropped to the dirt with a soft thud.   
“O-oh,” she stuttered and the briefest current of electricity crackled in her hands, through his armor, and set his skin tingling. His heartbeat hammered in his ears. He took a step back, hand reflexively moving to his sword.   
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—,” her breathing quickened and the crackling became louder.   
Cullen inhaled through his nose and as he exhaled he focused on settling the area in a Lasting Cleanse, slowly and carefully keeping her from being able to access the Fade to the cast any more of her spells.    
Her eyes widened, moving slowly from the emblazoned emblem on his chest to his golden brown eyes.   
He held her gaze for a brief moment before she looked awkwardly at the daggers that still lay between them.   
“Ellaria Trevelyan?” Not that he had to ask. She was the spitting image of Solona. Except…what was it? It grated at him. He scrutinized her face, but the answer eluded him still.   
She nodded without meeting his gaze.   
Cullen didn’t say anything else to her, but instead turned to his men, his arms tucked behind his back. “Shackle her until we reach the Gallows. Place her in a holding cell until I can question her on her whereabouts.” He began to walk back to the small encampment where they tied their horses, but he paused and turned back, his mouth held in a thin line. “Masters,” Cullen called gruffly to the scowling Templar who’d been whispering during his instructions, “She’s been Cleansed. She won’t need anymore redirection until I speak with her in the Gallows.”   
Masters’ eyes narrow, but Cullen did not break eye contact.   
“Ser,” the Templar finally muttered in acknowledgment, his expression souring further. “And don’t forget to take her daggers. All of them.” He inclined his head at a third dagger barely visible in Ellaria’s boot. Cullen could’ve sworn he saw her lips twitch.


	3. Rylen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some liberties with Ser Pounce-a-Lot :)

        The way the new mages fidgeted when they arrived at the Gallows always drove Rylen mental. Not ‘cause they didn’t have a right to be nervous or anything, but ‘cause Rylen couldn’t stand not being able to offer up his help. He tried, of course. But the thing to understand about new mages was how scared they were of everything; of the Circle, of being alone, of being made Tranquil, of Rylen himself. Rylen understood fear, albeit maybe not the same kind of fear as the mages’; no one was coming to lock him away but he understood their plight better than most of the power hungry, mage grabby riff-raff who worked at the Gallows with him.  
        He was fourteen when his baby sister started showing signs of magic. Fifteen when he decided to join the Order in hopes of following her to Starkhaven Circle to protect her. And sixteen?  
        Well…  
        He’d been so happy at fifteen. Not only had they accepted him into the Order, but they’d let him follow his sister to Starkhaven, something his parents said the Chantry would never allow. Siblings were customarily separated--regardless of status--due to the difficulties it could pose. It was a blessing from the Maker, they all said.  
        Well…  
        They spent a year at the Circle together. Brave big brother keeping the closest of quiet eyes on his baby sister. Rarely saying a word (that wasn’t allowed), but always watching, always protecting. After a year of not much happening other than his sister’s first crush on a gawky mage boy who she never shut up about in her secret letters…  
        Well…  
        After a year came his sixteenth birthday and little Lenora’s Harrowing. Rylen could still feel the cold, biting air of the Fade as it ripped through the hole that Lenora’s fear had created. Her too small body contorted horribly to the demon that tried to fit inside. If only that had been the worst part, seeing his sister defiled like that. No, the Maker’s blessing that kept them together at the Circle was also a curse. His Knight Commander had ordered him to be the one to hold the sword that evening. It was his first Harrowing. His first abomination. His first, and only, baby sister.  
        The fear crept in anew every time he handled the intake of a new mage. Cullen…a good man, Cullen. He knew about Lenora. He’d always offered to take Rylen off of intake duty, but Rylen always refused. These mages—these fearful mages—deserved someone who saw their baby sister every time they looked at them; honestly, they deserved someone better than him, but with the direction the Order was going, he was one of the best they were going to get for a while.  
        He looked at Ellaria and swallowed back his memories—Lenora playing as a child, Lenora staring at gawky, awkward Nikolai from across the mess hall, Lenora’s pained cry as she woke from the Fade meeting his eyes as herself for the last time, Lenora’s tiny, broken body lying at his feet. But Ellaria? She wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t surprised. They never looked at him. And that was okay. Just like all the others, she was overwrought by the looming statues bound in literal chains, their faces contorted in the fear everyone seemed to know so well.  
        “The new one,” a gruff voice pulled Rylen from his musing. His gaze slid over to the Templar who escorted her from the mainland. Masters. Of course it was Masters, the blighted piece of nugshit.  
        “We’ve been expecting you,” Rylen said, smiling warmly trying to set Ellaria at ease, but she didn’t lower her head, didn’t look away from those statues. Addressing Masters he asked, “I trust there were no issues on the road?”  
        “Bossman neutered her.”  
        “Knight Commander.” Correcting Master’s lack of respect for Cullen was nearly automatic. The burly Templar had not taken the Knight Captain’s promotion after Meredith’s downfall well. While Cullen was next in line for the job, Masters was far from shy about admitting that he thinks a ‘robe lover’ was not what the Gallows needed. In the weeks following Meredith’s death, Masters had even been bold enough to suggest annulling the Gallows and starting with a ‘fresh lot of spellbinders.’ The memory brought a sour taste to Rylen’s mouth.  
        He cleared his throat and waved off Masters and his scowl without a second glance, raising a gentle hand to Ellaria’s shoulder to guide her to the intake cells. The moment his hand grazed her skin she visibly recoiled, stumbling backward and staring at him, her eyes wide with fright. He quickly dropped the arm reached toward her with a mumbled apology. If only he could convince them—any of them—that he was truly here to help. Maybe if he could just get her talking. Get her to admit her name.  
        “This way, Miss…?”  
        She didn’t respond or make any movements toward the door, she just trembled.  
        He wouldn’t be dissuaded that easily. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Please, this way, Miss…?” He drew out the last word, exaggerating his question.  
        “Trevelyan.” Ellaria’s eyebrows knitted together in a show of confusion and her voice had a sharp edge to it. He ducked his head down trying to meet her gaze, but she pulled back from him further.  
        Rylen still counted it as a win, she had awarded him with her name. He knew it was a cheap ploy, but he grinned all the same; his stupid grin, too. The one the other knights made fun of him for. The one that he so obviously picked up working on farms with his Pa building stone fences. He tried to reign in his delight a little as they walked into the intake cellar together, which didn’t take much effort. The intake cellar was the gloomiest place in the entire Gallows, aside from the Harrowing Chambers, where mages also underwent the Rite of Tranquility.  
        The cellar was a long, dark hallway lined with old Tevinter slave cells in desperate need of renovation. The only sliver of light that stretched across the dank cobbled floor came from a thin, barred window high above them. The next slash of light that scarred the floor was at the far end of the hall, leaving the darkest and most formidable of shadows between them. The door behind them slammed shut from its own weight and Rylen shivered as the warmth of the midday sun was chased from his shoulders and its absence left goosebumps on his neck.  
        As they walked through the gloomy hall, Rylen noticed Ellaria inspecting the rooms that flanked them. Each room laid bare with a wall of thick metal bars. Inside every room was a wooden bunk, a table and chair, and two metal pails with large rivets holding them to the stone floor. Sadder still, each cell used to have four sets of bunk crowding the already tiny room. They’d been removed at some point in the Gallow’s history after it was transformed from a prison to a Circle. Despite that small improvement, he’d spent several hours arguing with Cullen about further renovations, but the Knight Commander insisted they didn’t have the capital to change anything about the cellar. Rylen had switched tactics then; what if they did intake somewhere else? Anywhere else? ‘The Cellar is the most secure; intake has the highest escape risk,’ Cullen had shot back. Rylen sighed remembering the conversation before he realized a dramatic sigh was probably not in Ellaria’s best interest.  
        He turned to check on her and found she had stopped a few feet back. Her petite palm was pressed into her flushed chest as she sucked in desperate gulps of the fetid air around them. Shit, shit, can’t even focus for two seconds, damn it.  
        “Miss Trevelyan, are you alright?” Out of sheer instinct, his hand stretched out and grazed her upper arm. The small act was enough to break to cycle of panic, but it didn’t have the intended comforting effect Rylen hoped for. Instead, Ellaria flailed backward, slamming into the metal bars of one of the cells. The bars groaned against the sudden pressure, but Ellaria kept scrambling backward pressing harder and harder into the metal. Rylen wanted nothing more than to comfort her, bring her out of her fit of panic, but if a simple touch…  
        And then it hit him. It wasn’t that he had touched her shoulder; it was that he had touched her at all while they were alone. His stomach turned as he contemplated what had happened to this mage to condition her in such a manner. There were clear cut protocols: Templars were not allowed to physically touch any of their charges except in situations pertaining to magical emergencies. Obviously, there were times when he ignored this--after all, mages were still human and were still deserving of his empathy. He shook his head and tried his best to focus on what was happening in front of him. “Is there anything I can do for you,” he ducked his head again, chasing her pale green gaze.  
        She hummed in response and continued taking small gulps of air. She held up her palms, a wordless plea for Rylen to keep his distance. After another minute she gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head.  
        “I’m sorry, Ellaria. The Knight Commander is in here. He has a few questions for you before we can get you settled.” Rylen’s lips pursed, his brow drawn into a deep frown.  
        Maybe Cullen could help her. He opened the wooden door and ushered her inside.  
        Cullen had his back to them, shuffling what seemed to be an unending stack of vellum. Rylen noticed one of the sheets had the same stamp as the missive from four days ago, the Kestrel. He cleared his throat loudly before Ellaria could see the wealth of information Cullen had collected on her. Surely that was no way to start a trusting relationship, especially if Ellaria hated the Ostwick Circle enough to run away and risk Tranquility…four times.  
        “My apologies,” Cullen drawled, still not looking up from the stack of papers. Rylen liked Cullen. He respected Cullen. He even liked to think of him as a brother in most ways. But sometimes he didn’t think Cullen really understood what these mages went through. Maybe it was whatever happened in Ferelden…he always had that glazed look in his eyes whenever people mentioned it. Rylen cleared his throat again, even louder this time.  
        “Right, right. So sorry,” Cullen apologized again. “Rylen, I trust everything went well with the transfer?” He stared intently at Rylen who immediately started to squirm. Whether he considered him a brother or not, Cullen was still Rylen’s superior and he knew how to make him sweat.  
        “Yes, Knight Commander.” Rylen’s voice held steadier than he felt. “Masters didn’t mention any problems on the road. Nor did Lady Trevelyan, not that she’s been much of a talker,” he turned and flashed a grin at Ellaria. Still no luck breaking down that wall, no putting her at ease. She held her hands tightly in front of her, her eyes cast down, wild black curls hanging in front of her face. It was hard to tell, but he was pretty certain she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He found Cullen staring at Ellaria, rubbing firmly at the back of his neck, his expression unreadable.   
        After a beat, Cullen extended his arm out to a large table, the only piece of furniture in the room, its age evidenced by deep scars carved into the wood. “Ellaria. Let's take a seat.” He nodded subtlety at Rylen, who understood immediately and took his post by the open door. Most interviews were conducted one-on-one, but if an apostate was known to have caused issues in the past, more Templars may be called upon to assist, usually Rylen, per his request.  
        He listened as Cullen spoke softly, but with authority, a strange mixture Rylen knew he would never master.  
        “My name is Knight Commander Cullen. I’d like to speak with you before I make any decisions regarding your study here at Kirkwall Circle, which you’ve probably heard referred to as the Gallows.” Cullen’s smile was sad, neither wanting to relay the bloodied history of the island nor deny its existence. Rylen shifted his weight awkwardly, his armor clinked loudly against the stone behind him. Cullen’s eyes flitted toward him in a brief warning. “There’s no need to be nervous, it’s just a few questions.” Cullen’s eyes were still on Rylen and he wasn’t sure if Cullen was talking to him or to Ellaria. Probably both, quite honestly.   
        Then the questions began and Rylen felt magic swell, stretching the air like a balloon ready to pop. Cullen’s Cleanse from early that morning was finally wearing off, Ellaria’s link to the Fade slowly building. His fingers twitched, preparing for whatever might happen next, but Cullen continued on as if he hadn’t felt anything.  
        “When did your magic emerge?”  
        Ellaria made no move to answer, so Cullen shuffled through the papers Ostwick had sent prior to her arrival. Apparently unable to find his answers, he shoved them away from him. One of the papers slid off the table, whipping through the electrified air until it landed on the floor. Rylen noticed all of the underlined passages and notes made in the margins in Cullen’s neat, microscopic script. He cleared his throat and looked from Cullen to the paper on the floor and back in silent question. Cullen ignored him, his focus solely on Ellaria.  
        “So you’ve run away from Ostwick four times?”  
        Ellaria nodded, a brief bit of communication that elicited a poorly hidden smile and…was that a blush?  
        Rylen continued to watch, Ellaria’s magic making him want to fidget while seemingly having no effect on Cullen. He’d have to remember to ask about that later.  
        “Why do you thi—,”  
        A door slammed in the hallway and Rylen jumped.  
        “Andraste’s flaming sword! Stay still!”  
        Embarrassed for startling and pointedly avoiding Cullen’s gaze, Rylen poked his head out the door and saw three more Templars wrestling with…oh, blight it.  
        “Ser, they’ve caught—,” but he was cut off by another yell.  
        “Don’t think I don’t remember you!” You’re the one who took my cat! Poor Ser Pounce-a-Lot!” The mage’s hollers echoed throughout the corridor. Loud thuds and curses becoming louder and louder as they approached the intake room. It was only a moment before the struggling group of Templars and mage made it to the end of the hallway and Ellaria turned in her chair to observe the scuffle.   
        Anders kicked and punched erratically while yelling about mage rights, how Templars were only there to oppress, murder, and maim. Rylen had to fight the urge to palm his face, as the Templars wrestling Anders weren’t doing a very good job of proving him wrong. One threw such a strong punch that if Anders hadn't ducked, causing it to merely glide off his jaw, he surely would’ve been knocked out with a severe concussion. As it was, a slightly bloodied Anders grabbed onto the door frame and called out to Ellaria for help.  
        Rylen couldn’t make out exactly what Anders was screaming over the rest of the calamity. The screaming and yelling were bad enough, but what truly hindered Rylen’s response was Ellaria’s magic hanging thickly in the air. He turned away from Anders as the other two Templars pried him from the door and continued to drag him down the hall, his screams receding  after him and noticed Cullen kneeling at Ellaria’s side trying desperately to calm her down. Rylen could tell he was talking to her in a hushed, calm voice, but he couldn’t hear any of Cullen’s words.   
        The mage curled in on herself, electricity crackling over her skin, small balls of lightning flying around her, popping sharply every time they touched something. The current in the air grew heavier and heavier until Rylen struggled to breathe with the weight of it. Ellaria was still panicking, still casting a multitude of electricity spells, many of which Rylen had never seen before. With a strength that Rylen had never seen before. He coughed, willing to try anything to break up the magic around him. He couldn’t perform any Templar spells until  Cullen—his superior—either ordered him to or was incapacitated. He hoped Cullen had this under control.  
        “Ellaria,” Cullen’s voice was louder, a distinct warning.  
        Rylen’s armor had begun to feel hot from the amount of electricity filling the room. He pressed his back against the stone wall as he swayed against the strength of her magic. Oh, come on, Cullen.  
        Cullen stood.  
        Thank the Maker.  
        “I’m so sorry,” Cullen whispers as he smote her.


	4. Ellaria

        Ellaria’s body ached, her usually lithe muscles felt like they’d been poured with lead and weighed her down. The air pressed in on her as though physically squeezing the Fade from her lungs and mind. Even something as simple as casting magelight—the first spell taught to her by the her clan’s Keeper after a formless nightmare woke her as a young child—proved an impossible task. It simply puttered out at the edge of her fingers and left her with a swell of pain at the base of her skull. She quit trying when two voices drifted toward her from the reaches of darkness.  
        “…dangerous.”  
        “All due respect, Knight Commander, but maybe she’s just scared?” The second voice, the one she didn’t recognize, was stern yet gentle, like a grandmother chasing after her reckless charges.   
        “Does someone who’s frightened do this?”  
        The forceful shaking of papers and a loud groan from the frustrated Commander scraped against the inside of her pounding head, the pain threatening to bring up what little food she had in her stomach with each throb.  
        The matronly voice grew quiet, indiscernible.  
        She looked around and willed her eyes to focus, just enough to recognize the buckets bolted to the floor. They’d put her in the cells she passed before her interview…after her panic and fear from seeing Templars handle the blond mage so roughly caused one of her episodes. Creators, his hoarse screams still echoed in her ears.  
        “I had to!” The Knight Commander’s voice erupted from the still air and Ellaria’s headache doubled. “You know as well as I, with an unharrowed mage with that much emotion, that much power…” The commander’s voice cracked. “And no control over her magic? She’s practically begging for a demon to cross over. We’re barely hanging on as it is. We will not survive another outbreak of abominations.”   
        At the end of his tirade, his voice grew weary and Ellaria wondered if she had more Holy Smites to look forward to or if they wouldn’t consider her worth the trouble and brand her as soon as they realized she was awake.   
        Her headache was still there, but her vision was finally starting to clear, the blurry shapes at her cell door began to sharpen with every painful blink.  
        “Knight Commander, please,” the elder’s hand twitched as though she considered reaching out to the Templar, but she thought better of it.  
        Ellaria scoffed at the slight movement before remembering a heartbeat too late that she was supposed to be unconscious, or at the very least, asleep.  
        “You’re up.”  
        She flinched as the tall blond turned his golden gaze on her, but pulled herself to sit on the edge of the cot nearest to her captors. At least this cell would keep them out as much as it would keep her in.   
        “I apologize, but the rest of our interview will be held here for your safety.” Cullen gestured to the thick bars between them and then turned to the woman that Ellaria could almost see clearly now. Her grey hair was plated in an intricate braid that fell in a thick line down to her waist. She wore the ruby robes of a Senior Enchanter with Kirkwall Circle heraldry embossed across the thick belting of the tunic.  
        Suddenly, the woman’s hand, soft and coppery, extended through the bars, and she was talking over Cullen who was still recounting yesterday’s events. “My name is Shaedra. I’m a Senior Enchanter in the Gallows and apprentice to First Enchanter Ors—” Her hand fell away and Shaedra’s eyes turned glassy, reflecting the small amount of light casting down from the window down the hall.  
        She closed her glistening eyes and cleared her throat softly. Ellaria continued to stare up at the older woman from her place on the edge of the cot. “Forgive me, it’s still fresh. Apprentice to First Enchanter Matthias. I will be helping you study one-on-one until your magic is safe enough for the larger classes.”  
        Cullen shifted uncomfortably but showed no reservation speaking up. “Provided we allow you to study here in the Gallows, of course.”  
        “Of course,” Shaedra repeats, her eyes narrowing at him in the dim light. A subtle look of disdain that Ellaria didn’t miss.  
        “Allow me?” Ellaria finally spoke.  
        “I’m sure nothing will be amiss, darling,” Shaedra reached through the bars again to touch Ellaria gently on the shoulder. “But let’s indulge them and answer their silly questions anyway, hmm?”  
        Ellaria swallowed hard but nodded her assent.  
        “More flies with honey, Knight Commander,” Shaedra advised and she touched one finger to her nose knowingly before she padded softly down the corridor, leaving Ellaria alone with a Templar.

 

:::

 

        Cullen asked question after question. Where did she grow up, when did her magic emerge, why wasn’t she sent to the Circle right away. He harped on that one for a while. Cullen sat in a chair opposite Ellaria while she continued to perch on the edge of her cot, still exhausted, craving the cooling comfort of the Fade. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the Fade. Maybe it was these questions, maybe it was the truth. The truth was always exhausting. The truth was while her title read the Honorable Lady Ellaria Rachelle Trevelyan, she was only half noble. Her mother was an elven servant. When her newly married, 19-year old father knocked up the maid, her clever grandmother arranged the poor elven woman to be kept hidden long enough to have the child (no god, be it Andrastian, the Creators, or even the Forgotten Ones would keep her first grandbaby from her). After they had the child though, they shipped the elven woman, Neri, to live with a Dalish clan passing by Ostwick.   
        Being a noble bastard had been hard enough, half-elven even worse; but when her magic emerged at the tender age of six? Nearly killing a Teryn’s young son in what should’ve been an innocent child’s squabble because of this newfound power she didn’t understand or know how to control? The Trevelyan’s couldn’t suffer a mage in the family. No, that was just one too many disappointments to lay on top of a pile she’d already built to topple.   
        All of this came to light in a torrent of broken sentences and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. Her eyes cast downward as she kneaded the palm of her hand. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Or couldn’t. Honestly, she couldn’t tell anymore.   
        “Ellaria,” he coaxed.   
        She scrubbed angrily at her damp cheek with the back of her hand and raised her chin defiantly, angry that he’d pulled so much painful history from her before she’d even been allowed inside the Circle. But, when she looked at him, irritable and insolent as she was, he’d offered her his handkerchief through the bars of the cell. Wide, green eyes stared at him in a moment of indecision before she snatched the kerchief out of his grasp.   
        “Thanks,” she mumbled.   
        “So,” he ventured slowly, “That’s how you ended up with the Dalish, avoiding the Circle for…” he pauses to do the math, “…Maker, eleven years?” He let out a gust of surprised air. “How did you end up in Ostwick Circle after all that time? And is this right?” He glanced at the papers he held in his lap. “You haven’t had your Harrowing? Twenty-one is awfully old to not have be—”  
        “Why do you stare at me?” Ellaria interjected. No Harrowing questions today. Not ever, if she could help it. Questions about her Harrowing would inevitably lead to questions about...him.  
        “P-pardon?” His mouth fell into a small ‘o’ before he remembered himself and shut up, regaining his composure.  
        “You stare. At me.” She repeated firmly, accusing him of something, of everything. Everything that had been done to her at Ostwick that no one had bothered to stop and everyone pretended not to see. It felt good to be on the offensive for once.  
        “Uh,” he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re right, it’s late. Let’s wrap this up tomorrow.”  
        Ellaria smiled, a saccharine ploy as she watched Cullen trip over his chair in his hurry to escape.


	5. Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Origins story for this Universe includes Amell and Cousland. Cousland is the actual Hero of Ferelden while Amell just went to fight with the Grey Wardens.

        He couldn’t sleep again. His hands were shaking, again. He braced himself on the hard oak of the desk in his chambers and stared at the simple box he found himself hunched over. Again. He should’ve gotten rid of it. He knew that. He’d been up all night praying to the Maker for strength to get through this without that blessed blue liquid coursing through his veins, but he would see Ellaria again soon. His Holy Smite would’ve worn off. Why he’d have waited an extra day to see her, to finish his interview, he’d never know.    
Liar.    
He sighed and sat down with a huff in the chair at the desk, still staring at the simple box. Such a plain box for all it held within it. Lyrium. A Templar’s lifeforce. The strength to hold the entire Fade at bay. The strength to overpower any mage held within the Gallows. But after seeing what it had done to Meredith…her red eyes still haunted his dreams. The statue, bolts of red bursting through her as she crusted into pure stone before his very eyes. Ever since that night he’d cut his lyrium rations in half. He’d even stopped all together, for a time. Until Ostwick called on him, had sought aid for their most troublesome apostate.    
Apostate.    
He’d have to try and think of her that way. She certainly wasn’t his Solona. Of course, Solona wasn’t his Solona. That is, Solona wasn’t his. They’d barely shared passing glances. He’d tried his best to not favor her for the time she was with them in Ferelden. In fact, the most they’d ever shared was a chaste kiss on the cheek from her on her way out the door as she ran off the fight the blight. The Crown had called for more mages to aid in the fight at Ostagar and Solona was the first in line--her passion and idealism fueling her. She returned to the Tower once the Battle had ended...for a while.   
He shook his head. But that was all she was to him, a single kiss in his boyhood. Before Uldred or any of that ever happened. He rubbed the bridge of his nose gently with his thumb and his index finger.    
No, Ellaria was no Solona. He wouldn’t let her be one.    
If this interview ended favorably, he’d assign someone else to oversee her study sessions with Shaedra and that would be that. He wouldn’t have to see her again except as the occasional passerby in the hall. And even then, how often had he been able to get out of his office lately, anyhow?    
He sighed again, deep and heavy, then pulled himself up and began his trek toward the lower cells. He really shouldn’t have kept her there. They were some of the oldest, least kept up cells in the entire Gallows. Rylen had been on his back about that for a while. He expected to come back and finish the interview that evening, but he just couldn’t bring himself to face her again. Her magic had already gone awry twice since he had picked her up, her infraction list from Ostwick was a mile long (out of bounds, escapes, multiple injuries of a Templars!?), and who knew what the rest of her interview would be like? With her being unharrowed…she was certainly a rarity. Meredith would’ve already branded her. Hell, most sane Templars would’ve branded her by now. What he couldn’t figure out was why Ostwick hadn’t. And even more unsettling…why hadn’t he?    
His thoughts carried him all the way down to the dungeons where he found Ellaria bright-eyed and playing with her hair, fingers flying through her sable curls braiding and unbraiding faster than his eyes could follow. He watched her without realizing he hadn’t spoken yet.    
“Can I help you, Knight Commander?” She sounded surprisingly bored.    
“Oh, uh,” he mumbled and shuffled the papers he’d brought with him to make himself look busy.    
“Think nothing of it, Knight Commander. I’m used to being watched.”    
He felt his cheeks color, the heat fogging his thoughts. Was she playing with him? Or was she just making a bitter comment on life in the Circle? Maker’s breath. “Oh, right.” He followed her instruction and sat on the chair that had been righted since he was last there…tripping over it. His cheeks flushed deeper at the memory.    
“The mage who brought my food fixed the chair,” she informed him intuitively.    
He grunted a response, too embarrassed to acknowledge it further.    
“We only have a couple more questions, Ellaria.” He began firmly, a little more firmly than he meant. Her bright eyes snapped up to his, wide and wondering, before they fell back to her hands now resting still in her lap.    
“And then what?”    
“Then you’ll be able to begin your studies, permitting there’s nothing unusual about your answers.”    
“Unusual? So if I tell you I dance naked under the moon calling upon the Great Demon, you’ll let me go?”    
He stared agape and she looked just as she surprised she had said anything as he was surprised to hear it.    
“I am so sorry,” Ellaria rushed to say before he could say anything in response to her jape. “I’ve been with the same few Templars and didn’t have many…any friends at Ostwick…” her eyes darkened.    
Cullen cleared his throat and readjusted his position on the stiff chair. “Why don’t we start over?”    
“I think I’d like that,” she nodded and worried the pad of one thumb with the other.    
“Assuming you don’t actually dance under the moon calling upon the…Great Demon…?” He tried his best not to imagine her unclothed, but the jest made it difficult. Instead he stared at the crinkle he’d made in the notes Ostwick had sent him.    
When he finally had the nerve to look up, she was staring at him through dark lashes and the faintest smile crept across her lips. “No. No, Knight Commander, I don’t.”    
“Good. Let’s continue.”    
Ellaria was more charming than she’d been two days ago. More at ease as well. Cullen couldn’t help but wonder if Ellaria had spent much of her time at Ostwick Circle in solitary confinement; it seemed to suit her exceptionally well. She’d even joke occasionally, but her jokes didn’t entail any more demons. Cullen knew better than to jump right into the heart of the interview, why she wasn’t Harrowed. So he continued to let her jest and evade. An hour came and went. Two young mage children, Henry and…he couldn’t remember the other’s name…came with their lunch trays. He stopped asking her questions so they could eat.    
But she didn’t eat. Instead she looked directly at him and asked, “Who was she?”    
“I’m sorry?” A small piece of turkey sandwich hung from his lip and he rushed to push it into his mouth with his napkin.    
“Who was she? The girl I look like.”    
He blinked slowly, staring at her, unsure how to answer such a loaded question. A mage who used to be his charge? An old flame? The first abomination to ever cross his blade? But he saw a knowing look creep into Ellaria’s face that he knew he should quash before it could get him into too much trouble, so he simply said, “She was an old friend.”    
“Is she still alive?”    
“No.”    
“Oh.” She was taken aback, clearly not expecting that response. “I’m sorry.” She picked quietly at the crust on her sandwich.    
He nodded and took a bite of his own.   
When they both finished, he decided it was time to wrap up the interview and make a decision once and for all.    
“Ellaria…” he began.    
“I know,” she twiddled her thumbs ever so slowly around each other. “You want to know why I’m not Harrowed.”    
At the words he felt her magic for the first time all afternoon. He heard the smallest hum and saw a tiny spark of light jump between her thumbs. He stiffened, but didn’t do anything else. His body was low on lyrium, he’d have to be damn sure he needed to Smite her, or else he’d be the one on the floor. She could overpower him in a heartbeat if she felt for even the shortest of seconds that he wasn’t at his best. And without lyrium, he certainly wasn’t at his best. He continued to chide himself silently for being so negligent about his own safety and the safety of everyone else in the Gallows, including Ellaria, until she broke the silence.    
“His name is Cade.”    
She was slow to elaborate. It’s as if she chewed on every word, tasting it. Cullen could tell Ellaria was nervous. She made a point of keeping her hands in her lap, although they were far from still. She tugged and twisted at each finger until they were red. Her voice shook ever so slightly. And a thin sheen of a sweat gathered on her…on her…chest.    
Cullen suddenly felt very warm and pulled roughly at the neck of his chest plate to allow some air into his armor.    
“Cade is one of the Templars at Ostwick.”    
Cullen nodded, he’d gathered that much information on his own.    
“He took a liking to me,” the words finally tumbled from her mouth and Cullen felt his own mouth draw into a tight line, his jaw rigid, teeth clenched. She ventured onward, “I wasn’t strong enough to complete my Harrowing.”    
“And he didn’t want to lose you?” Cullen asked, his voice hollow of emotion.    
“You could say that.”    
“Were you and he…intimate?” His mouth had gone dry, his tongue a great gob of wool leached of all moisture.    
Ellaria’s magic popped and fizzed at the question, the electricity emanating from her was enough to make her Fade Call overwhelming--that sweet song he’d felt at their first meeting. He made a desperate bid to swallow. He did his best to ignore the magnetic pull of her magic, knowing he’d need to stay focused should she become overpowered by her own mana again.    
She closed her eyes and shook her head once. Cullen watched her throat bob up and down in a strained swallow and he couldn’t help but mimic the action.    
“The arguments…all the times you hurt him…” Cullen couldn’t quite form the question, but remembering all the things he’d seen in Ostwick’s paperwork, he knew he needed to ask something. She’d burnt him badly enough to need several weeks of healing; Cullen believed it, having seen her impressive display of electrokinesis. He just needed to know why.    
Ellaria’s eyes raked over the room, her usually bright eyes swallowed by black pupils. His own eyes narrowed as he watched her looking for something. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever she was about to say was leagues away from the whole a truth.    
“Oh, well…” she fumbled at first, her eyes cast about wildly. “He was trying to help me master my magic, in case the First Enchanter and Knight Commander deemed it time for me to have my Harrowing anyway.”    
“Anyway?”    
A small groan escaped her and he continued to listen, struggling to put the pieces together.    
“Cade was often in charge of the Harrowing schedule; he would…change it as he needed. To keep me out of the upcoming rotation.”    
Cullen felt a surge in her mana, the force of it almost swallowed him whole and Maker take him if he didn’t almost welcome it. He didn’t say anything for a moment but watched her as she whiled away the silence by picking at her robes, still muddy from traveling across the Free Marches. Her features dark with an untold story. He hated this part of the job, prying into parts of their life that should’ve stayed private; but Chantry law was Chantry law and no mage was allowed an intimate relationship. He shuddered against his own hypocrisy and struggled to soldier on. This interview needed to end.    
“But no intimacy was shared between the two of you?”    
“No.” Her answer short, almost angry that he would suggest such a thing.    
“I’ll send Enchanter Shaedra down to help you move into more suitable chambers. You won’t be staying with the other apprentices. Not until until you show you can harness your magic completely.”    
“That’s it?” Ellaria stood and took a hesitant step forward.    
“You say the harm that came to him was an accident, an accident that surely could’ve been avoided had he not fraternized with a mage in the first place. You say you were not intimate. I have no proof to the otherwise. You will be watched, more closely than you’ve ever been watched before; but let me make one thing clear, Lady Trevelyan,” his eyes narrowed, stern and less congenial than before she’d confessed to her affiliations with Cade, “You will not fraternize with my men. They are here to guard Kirkwall from you and guard you from yourself. That is the extent of their responsibilities and Andraste knows it’s a large enough responsibility to bear.” He stood and began his long trek back toward his office, his greaves clanging angrily with every step.   
  


:::    
  


  
Maker’s breath. He shouldn’t have let his emotions interfere with Ellaria’s interview, but hearing about Cade was like hearing about his own past coming back to haunt him. How many times had he changed the Harrowing roster just to keep Solona safe a little longer? She’d have scratched his eyes out if she’d known, but he hadn’t been able to bear thinking of her as one of those monstrosities that leaked from the Fade into the waking world. He’d had nightmares about it when he was just a Templar Knight, when she was just an apprentice.    
He still had nightmares about Solona. Of course, now they were about the night she returned to the Circle. The night she made her miraculous return from Ostagar, only to be torn and twisted from the inside out by one of Uldred’s demons a few hours later. He pushed the memory back down and hoped his face didn’t portray his worries when he saw Rylen approaching him from across the courtyard.    
“You sent for me, Ser?”    
“Yes, Rylen. I’d like to assign you private detail on Trevelyan while she studies with Shaedra. It won’t be forever. She’s currently in isolation, but I’d like to move her to the apprentice quarters as soon as her magic stabilizes,” Cullen informed him.    
Rylen nodded and Cullen glowered as a flicker of joy appeared and quickly vanished on the younger man’s face.    
“I’d remind you of our rules on fraternization, Rylen.” Cullen drew himself up to an intimidating height, a tactic he hated to use on his friend, probably his only friend.    
“Ser,” Rylen acknowledged with a resolute nod.    
“Shaedra is moving her to her new quarters now, they should be finishing up. We’re to meet them in one of the practice halls.” Cullen’s stomach gurgled anxiously and he hoped Rylen couldn’t hear it over the bustle of the other mages and Templars milling about as they made their way through the main hall.    
They spoke of little else as Cullen led the way to the practice hall; Cullen debated warning Rylen of Ellaria’s past relationship with Cade, but thought better of it. If Rylen thought she was same as any mage, he’d be more likely to treat her as any other mage and be less tempted. He trusted Rylen, he wouldn’t be his second in command if he didn’t, but the boy was young and had a carefree attitude that sometimes translated into being flirtatious with mages and Templars alike. Cullen was fairly certain he meant nothing by it, it was simply the way he was. Either way, it warranted being cautious.    
Cullen pulled open the heavy door and ushered Rylen in to find Shaedra and Ellaria already inside. Shaedra had cleared all the furniture away so that only a large desk sat near the front of the room and a lone chair was placed twenty paces back, closer to the doorway. Cullen gestured for Rylen to stop and they quietly watched as Shaedra began to instruct Ellaria.    
“Put a barrier over the chair. I will cast an elemental spell to try to break through your barrier,” Shaedra’s voice was clear and patient. Cullen felt a small swell of pride, knowing he’d chosen the right instructor for the job.    
The swell in his chest tightened as he felt Ellaria’s magic hum pleasantly against his skin. Her barrier bloomed around the chair and three small nodes of electricity zipped around the room.    
“Not quite,” Shaedra instructed Ellaria on how to better focus her different types of magic, but all Cullen could focus on was how it felt when Ellaria accessed the Fade, so unlike any of the other mages. Usually accessing the Fade left the room uncomfortably cool, but Ellaria’s magic was like a hot breeze blowing on him from the inside. It reminded him of early summer afternoons back in Honnleath. He felt his lip tug into a smile before he had the wherewithal to stop them. “I trust you have everything under control, Rylen?” He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the emotion Ellaria’s magic seemed to elicit from him.    
“Ser,” Rylen saluted and stood guard by the door, making himself as tall as his short frame could muster.


	6. Ellaria

* * *

< [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/168763924@N04/32782943478/in/dateposted/)

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        Ellaria’s new room wasn’t that much better than the cell in the dungeons, to be honest. There were a small desk and chair, a chamber pot, and a wash basin. Most importantly, though, she now had sunlight. Or would, if it hadn't been dark. Shaedra kept her practicing a barrier well past dinner, but no matter how hard she tried, no matter which staff they brought her, her barrier always buzzed and snapped with the added electricity and cracks of lightning shot around the room uncontrollably. Eventually, Shaedra had dismissed her and Rylen escorted her to this room and assured her someone would come up with a tray of food soon. Hours had passed; her candle had burned almost half way down since then. No one had come. She wasn’t sure anyone was coming at all.  
         Her stomach grumbled at her angrily and that made the decision for her; she’d have to go find the larder herself and find a quick snack. She’d never fall sleep this hungry. If she didn’t sleep, she’d stay awake obsessing over Ostwick. She needed the blessed relief of sleep if nothing else. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed her robe, forgoing her shoes in hopes that she could reach the larder quieter without them.  
         She braced on the door frame, took a steadying breath, and repeated to herself that Cade was a hundred miles away. He couldn’t hurt her now. With a final sigh she poked her head out the door and was thankfully greeted by an empty hall, devoid of any Templars or anyone else milling about. She scurried silently down the candlelit hall, rounded the corner, and went down the same flight of stairs she took with Rylen a few hours earlier. She skidded to a stop when she heard two voices passing the doorway on the landing below.  
         “Mage lover, that one,” the first voice, husky and deep said.  
         “Think they’ll bring in someone new?” The second voice asked, much younger and high pitched.  
         Their voices faded and she was unable to hear the rest of the conversation. Her stomach growled even louder than before and brought her back to herself. She hoped no one would be able to hear the grumbling and decided to redouble her efforts to make it to the larder as swiftly as possible. She waited in stairwell another moment, just to ensure the two Templars had truly left. Only hearing silence, she stepped out into the empty main hall and took in her surroundings. There wasn’t much furniture, only a couple tables with chairs and books left scattered along the tabletops. She thought back to a few days prior when they hauled her through this area during lunch hour. She’d seen people filing into one of the doors…her eyes drifted. Over there, on the far side of the room.  
         She bolted across the room and her bare feet padded quietly against the stones. She leaned up against the door and listened for sounds of Templars, but before she could manage to hear anything from the other side the voices of the two Templars making their rounds drifted back into the main hall.  
         She decided to take her chances with the kitchens rather than be caught by the two she’d heard earlier. The one hadn’t sounded particularly forgiving. She pulled open the door, rushed inside, and crashed into something—no, someone.  
         She looked up at the Knight Commander and felt the blood in her veins turn to ice, leaving her breathless with fear.  
         His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he gaped in surprise. “Well,” he sputtered, still someone in shock, “you are quite a different mage, aren’t you?”  
         Ellaria didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. She just tried to take a step backward so they were no longer touching but found her back flush against the door.  
         “Oh,” he blushed crimson, “my apologies.” He hurried backward allowing enough room for three or four people to stand between them.  
         Ellaria stayed silent. She was too scared to look at him. A mage, caught out of bounds, in the middle of the night. That was bad. But almost worse than that…  
         She couldn’t meet his eyes because he was out of his Templar armor, a thin beige tunic hanging loosely over brown trousers. Her heart was beating out of her chest and her palms were already slick with sweat. Without his armor, it was only that much easier for him to get to her. He could hurt her.  
         Her eyes flickered to him briefly before falling back to her feet, dirtied by the old stone. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered she was trembling and pushed harder against the door.  
         “Um, Miss Trevelyan?” His voice was unsteady, completely different than how he’d carried himself during their interview. “Look at me…please.”  
         His quiet begging made her heart ache, a novel sensation around a Templar, but not altogether new to Ellaria. It confused her enough to give her the bravery she needed to meet his eyes.  
         The eyes that looked back at her were a warm, golden brown and full of concern. He took a small step forward, but when she unwittingly recoiled, scrambling into the pantry’s corner, he moved back to his original position with sad eyes and a furrowed brow.  
         “I was getting myself a midnight snack,” he chuckled, the act taking the years away from his features. “Would you care to join me?”  
         For the first time, she noticed the tray of fruit, meats, and cheeses he’d been preparing at the table next to them. Her mouth filled with saliva and her stomach clenched at the sight.  
         “But you must promise not to tell,” he added playfully.  
         She nodded, still incapable of speech. Her walls still a mile high, body poised to bolt at the slightest inclination of need.  
         She was conscious to put the long table between Cullen and herself, leaning on her palms as she watched him slice an apple. When he finished, he put half of it on a plate and slid it over to her, before moving on to slice the salted meat.  
         Several minutes had passed and still, Cullen made no attempt to punish her or lay a hand on her in any way. She looked at him quizzically, but he simply ignored her. After another minute or two, when her heartbeat had begun to normalize, she took a bite of the sliced fruit and finally broke the silence, “How long have you been a Templar?” Apple juice dribbled down her chin and she wiped at it with the back of her hand, but not before he saw. Her chest tightened as he watched her wipe her mouth, his eyes lingering on her bottom lip. She took a step backward.  
         He cleared his throat before answering her, “I was given to the Chantry when I was thirteen.”  
         “And you’re how old?” Her voice held steady as she tried to push past the fear that surged through her at his predatory gaze. She looked at the door and back to him before he answered.  
         “I’ll be twenty-nine in Harvestmere.”  
         “Twenty-eight is awfully young to be a Knight-Commander.” She popped a slice of cheese into her mouth, her heartbeat continued to slow as the man opposite her settled into one of the wooden chairs.  
         He hummed and nodded.  
         “You must be a very good Templar.”  
         His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he looked as though he was searching for something. Being the center of his attention again recalled her fear and she stiffened, her magic bristling and crackling in time with the fireplace.  
         “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Cullen’s voice was timid, timider than she thought a Knight Commander’s should be.  
         “You didn’t.” The stab of guilt when he flinched away from her bitter tone disquieted her. Guilt toward Templars? They were her enemy; the ones who Smote her in the day and hurt in the night.  
         Cullen wasn’t so easily dissuaded by a harsh tone, though, and he pressed on. “You seem to lose control of your magic when your emotions run high.”  
         “That’s true of all mages,” she snapped. At least she didn’t have to worry about being scared when she was irritated and angry.  
         “Yes,” he continued, “But for you, Templars seem to bring about an unusually high level of emotion.” He fixed her in a piercing stare, studied her.  
         Ellaria swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “I imagine that’s the case for a lot of mages, Knight Commander,” she retorted brusquely. “I’m sorry, it’s getting late. I don’t want to be overtired for Shaedra’s lesson tomorrow.”  
         “Lady Trevelyan,” he walked around the wooden table and placed a hand gently on her shoulder, stopping her from walking toward the door. “I’m afraid we aren’t done.”  
         Her pulse jumped and she felt sick, the small meal rebelling in her stomach. Of course they weren’t done. When had she ever been alone with a Templar at night when it was congenial. She turned, tearing her shoulder out of his grasp, which elicited a sharp intake of air from him. “How can I serve you, Knight Commander?” She quarried icily.  
         His mouth hung open, unsure what she asked. He blinked a few times before he remembered himself. “Uh, I simply meant, now that we’ve been fed, I need to know what you were doing down here in the first place. It’s past curfew. Aside from that, the kitchens are off limits at all times except during the three meal periods.”  
         Ellaria covered her face with both hands, filled with a mixture of both relief and shame. Relieved that it seemed the Knight Commander had no interest in taking advantage of her, at least not tonight, and shamed because it was obvious by the pained and worried expression on his face that he knew very well which services she was implying with her question. She let out a heaving sigh and answered him directly and succinctly. “Shaedra kept me until dinner was long over. Rylen escorted me to my room, assuring me that food would be sent up. It never came. I waited for a couple hours at least.”  
         “Ah,” his face pink. “Yes, there was a…” he stopped to choose his next word carefully, “predicament in the Harrowing Chamber. It was all hands on a deck for a while. I’m afraid it must’ve fallen through the cracks. That’s why I’m eating dinner right now, myself.”  
         “No harm done.” Ellaria turned once more to head back toward her room.  
         “Lady Trevelyan,” Culled stopped her again.  
         “Knight Commander, if you’re going to continue calling my name, at least use Ellaria. You sound as if you’re summoning my step-monster.”  
         He smiled at her then, a broad, warm smile that made her chest flutter. She tried to squash the feeling quickly, recalling the horrors the Ostwick.  
         “Okay, Ellaria.”  
         “Why did you stop, anyway?” Her curiosity got the better of her.  
         “Stop what?” Cullen’s brow knitted in confusion.  
         “In our interviews you called me Ellaria, but since I officially became a Gallows’ mage,” her tone mocking as she said the phrase, “You’ve only called me by my family name.” She was suddenly aware that her back was pressed to the door again and Cullen was close enough to touch, his tall, broad build towering over her, but she can’t manage to feel afraid. Instead, her racing pulse felt more like exhilaration. A change she didn’t understand, nor welcome.  
         “I’m your Knight Commander. I call all my chargers by their family name.”  
         “But you’ll call me Ellaria?” She prodded, relieved that for once, she seemed to hold the power over a Templar.  
         “If you wish,” he dipped his head and studied her gentle features before he reached his arm down to her waist and tugged on the doorknob that rested by her hip.  
         His proximity caused her breath to hitch uncomfortably in her lungs and she stood unmoving as he tried to pull the door toward them.  
         “Allow me to escort you to your room, so none of my men think you’re to be reprimanded.” His face was close enough to her own that she could feel his breath on her cheek. The hot air rippled through her hair. The rattling of the doorknob gently reminded her that she needed to move if they were ever to leave the kitchen.  
         “Oh, yes, right.” She pushed down the sudden arousal that had blossomed low in her belly. She cursed herself silently, not knowing what had come over her. These feelings for a Templar are not okay. Those feelings for a Knight Commander were downright dangerous.  
         They walked in companionable silence back to her room and saw no other Templars on their journey which allowed Ellaria to lose herself in her thoughts. Even though the Knight Commander hadn’t taken advantage of her in this instance, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t in the future, nor did it mean he hadn’t taken advantage of someone else in the past. After all, he had yet to tell her what actually happened with the girl she resembled. She might do best to avoid him. It had been so long since she’d had a friend, Cade made sure of that; making nice with the Knight Commander was an easy way to ensure she’d have no friends here either. Maybe she could befriend Shaedra. She was nice, but then again, she was all teacher all the time. She didn’t strike Ellaria as someone you could really open up to.  
         “Here we are,” Cullen announced as they neared her door.  
         She was pulled from her thoughts and stopped just short of running into Cullen, who stopped at her closed door and turned to look at her.  
         She felt her chest tighten, unsure what he was waiting for.  
         They both stood in the doorway, Ellaria attempting to look anywhere but at Cullen’s face. Eventually, she had no choice and once again she caught him gazing at her mouth. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip instinctively and she pulled it into her mouth along with her tongue. She chewed on it nervously.  
         Cullen rubbed the back of his check and began to say something, but Ellaria didn’t catch it over the loud crash that sounded next door.  
         “What was that,” She asked him, startled.  
         “Oh, flames…” he continued swearing as he turned away from her. “Stay there!” He tossed the order over his shoulder as he went to the door next to hers. He pulled a large, metal key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the door.  
         “Anders?” He called, but there was no answer. “Anders, I’m coming in.”  
         He pushed open the door and Ellaria heard a string of cursing, another crash, and some fumbling. She took a couple steps forward and tried to peek into the room. Before she knew what had happened,  the blond mage from earlier darted out and slammed into her, knocking them both to the ground.  
         “Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels! What in the blighted—”  
         “Anders, meet Ellaria. Ellaria, meet Anders, our resident escape artist.”  
         “Locking them up and shacking up with them, too, are we, Knight Commander?” Anders tone acerbic. “My, my. And here I thought you’d never get over dear, sweet Solona.”  
         Cullen tensed, his grip on his sword tightening until his knuckles had no color. “Careful, Anders.”  
         “Don’t think I don’t know all about you. She was my dearest friend. If not for you, she’d still be alive, you know.”  
         “Enough!” Cullen barked. A pregnant silence hung between them. After a loud swallow Cullen dropped the subject as though Anders had never spoken. He gestured to Ellaria and said, “Ellaria is new, I was showing her back to her room.” Cullen’s response brokered no argument as far as she was concerned, but Anders was willing to try.  
         “Sure, showing her back to her room, for the New Mage Special, I’m sure,” he spat.  
          Curious though she was about this mysterious Solona, Ellaria knew if she didn’t intervene one of the men would lose his patience and attack the other. She said the first thing that came to mind, “Are you the Anders? The one who…” Ellaria trailed off, not sure she should continue.  
          “The one who was willing to do anything and everything to ensure us mages are treated like human beings instead of subhuman cretins, slaves, and sex toys? Yeah, that’s me.” Anders stopped glaring at Cullen long enough to look at her, his eyes roved over her from head to toe. She blushed and pushed an errant curl behind one ear.  
         Cullen cleared his throat loudly. “Anders.”  
         “Yeah, yeah. Next time there won’t be a raven-haired beauty to block my escape, you know,” he winked at her as he filed back into his room and Cullen locked the door behind him.  
         Cullen stood with his hands on the locked door for a moment before turning to Ellaria, contempt plain on his face.  
         “Are you…alright?” She resisted the urge to place a hand on his arm.  
         “The last thing I need is him causing more trouble,” he looked back at the door and sighed.  
         “Why don’t you have guards posted or something?”  
         “He always finds a way to manipulate them and then gets past them. You’d be amazed how many times the same Templar will fall for ‘Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’.”  
         She’s shocked to hear herself giggle and Cullen scowled half-heartedly at her. “I’m sorry, maybe you just have very trusting Templars.”  
        “Hmm, just Rylen. He doesn’t take guard duty with Anders anymore.” He looked around the hall awkwardly, “I’ve kept you long enough. Goodnight, Lady Trevelyan.”  
        “Ellaria,” she corrected.  
        “Right, Ellaria.” And he was gone.


	7. Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: With the help of my beloved Beta, I’ve edited the entire work so it’s all past tense. Playing with tenses was a fun experiment while it lasted, but I felt like it detracted from the story.

        When Cullen reached his quarters he kicked off his leather boots, peeled his tunic over his head, and flopped down onto his bed. Not having bothered to light a candle, he found himself staring into the blackness, only the faintest light drifting in from the early morning moon reflecting on the water. The sound of the waves quickly dragged him down into his torrent of thoughts.   
He probably should’ve reprimanded her. No, he definitely should’ve reprimanded her. No mages were allowed out of their rooms after lights out, and no one, not even Templars, were allowed in the kitchens during non-meal hours. But the events of that evening had been so difficult, so emotionally draining, it had felt nice to have someone to talk to and share a meal with.   
He always hated when a Harrowing went poorly; while he had made sure he and his men were always physically ready to handle a failed Harrowing, he could never be certain everyone would be emotionally ready. There were many days he spent in his office talking with new Templar Knights who had just seen their first abomination. He’d coach them through the nightmares that would be sure to follow and then assign them light duty if needed until they were able to rebound.    
This evening was different. Of course, there was the difficulty dealing with the mage-turned-abomination; but instead of emotionally drained Templars, he’d been faced with implacable, unsparing zealots. The fervor with which they committed the slaying reminded him of Meredith and it hadn’t been an easy image to shake. He could still hear their easy words as they walked away from the Harrowing Chamber, one even having the gall to laugh. “Another one down, only sixty-two more to go.” The idea of annulling the Circle via the Harrowing Chamber was sickening. He’d made note of the Templars who had misrepresented the Order’s ideals and vowed to speak to them in the morning. He’d wanted to confront them then and there, but standing in the wake of a possession, a shattered body lying at their feet, he knew his words would fall on deaf ears.   
So instead of a lecture that wouldn’t be good for anything except wasting his breath, he sought comfort in food. Eating to soothe himself was a habit he’d developed in his childhood; he would smell the sweet scent of Mia baking bread after learning that, yet again, their father wouldn’t be coming home from the army to visit and they’d stay up late into the night, his sister baking and Cullen eating until he couldn’t take another bike. Tonight, however, he’d found more than just food. He’d found Ellaria. Cullen hadn’t quite figured her out yet. One minute she’d been cold and accusatory, while the next he’d catch her chewing on her lip, cheeks tinged pink like a bashful schoolgirl. Maker, but those lips. The way the apple’s juice dripped down her chin, leaving a shiny residue that glistened in the kitchen’s firelight. Cullen groaned as his trousers tightened against his arousal at the memory. He arched his back trying to relieve the pressure, but instead found himself remembering how she’d asked him, “How may I serve you?”  
        He growled, awash in frustration and shame. He was the Commander of Kirkwall Circle, he should set an example. Whatever feelings Ellaria elicited from him, he had to ignore them completely if not compensate for how he felt by being even tougher on her. Sleep continued to elude him as he wrestled with his thoughts. He was about to call it quits and visit the chapel for guidance when he rolled over and noticed the pink edge on the horizon.   
He gave up his endeavor at tossing restlessly until sleep found him and decided to conduct an early morning, full tower walkthrough; he’d check on all the mages, ensuring their presence and safety. He donned his armor, the reassuring click of the buckles as they snapped into place cleared his mind of the remaining impure thoughts and he allowed the simplicity of routine to take over. He started his checks on the top floor, near Ellaria and Anders. Which was standard protocol, of course.   
Cullen could hear Anders’ monstrous snoring before he even approached their doors, but had to press his ear to the small barred window on Ellaria’s door before he heard the soft flutter of her breathing. The quiet hum of her magic could be felt through the heavy, wooden door as well. Or was that his imagination? He stood there a breath too long as he fixated on the ebb and flow, the magnetic pull of her Fade song. A scuffling sound further down the hall caught his attention and he cursed himself for lingering. He would have suspended lesser Templars for acting the way he did this evening and he should hold himself to the same—if not higher—standards. No, he’d stay away from Ellar—er, Lady Trevelyan. If he couldn’t hold to his responsibilities as Knight Commander when in her company, best not be in her company. Ever.   
Cullen nodded determinedly to himself and continued down the tower without incident until he heard the same scuffling as earlier, but louder, more frantic. He quickened his pace to the stairwell where the noises echoed softly. When he reached the landing, he heard the voices coming from below.   
“Be a good mage and do as your told.”   
Cullen recognized the man’s voice as Knight Lieutenant Masters. He’d been meaning to talk to Masters about his methods for a while now, but they’d been understaffed since the Chantry explosion. He just hadn’t found the time. Now he was hearing the repercussions of his procrastination.   
“Please, Ser, I wasn’t. You can ask the First Enchanter, the books came from him.”   
“Now, now. I know a blood mage when I sees one.”   
Cullen had been listening at the door to the stairwell, but when he heard the woman cry out, he burst through to investigate the scene more thoroughly. Knight Lieutenant Masters had his fingers twisted in the mage woman’s hair. He’d pulled on her locks so tightly, she’d been forced to drop to her knees, eyes bright with unshed tears.   
“Lieutenant!” Cullen barked. “Unhand her and explain!”   
Masters unclenched his hand, eyeing Cullen with the defiance of a petulant child told to share his candy.   
“Commander.”   
The word was choked, lacked all the proper respect the title usually held, but Cullen paid him no mind. His gaze was locked on the young blond who was still kneeling in front of the lieutenant, visibly shaking, unsure if she could run away.   
“Explain,” Cullen demanded again, eyes switching between the mage and the Templar, searching out whomever would tell him the truth of the situation first.   
The mage studied her hands and kept quiet save a small whimper.   
“These were found in the mage’s possession.” Masters gestured toward two books flung across the stone floor, one was open and had spewed pages of scribbled notes.   
Cullen knelt down next to the shivering mage and pointed to the books on her other side, “If you would hand me those, please,” careful to keep his tone firm, but not unkind. After all, Masters had accused the girl of blood magic and that wasn’t something to be ignored.   
The volumes were heavy in his hands and his stomach roiled as he flipped them to read the spines:  _ Tome of the Slumbering Elders  _ and _ Dreams: Sculpting Reality Within the Fade _ . Cullen’s breathing quickened, seeing many things at once. Images of the previous night’s Harrowing flashed in his mind, the two Templars laughing as they cut down the mage who hadn’t been able to resist the wiles of the demon she faced. He saw the mage before him in what he imagined the fade to be like as she brokered deals with demons, shifting the sensitive balance of power within the Gallows. He also saw her broken and vacant, Tranquil.   
“See, Ser?” Masters prodded.   
“Wake First Enchanter Matthias. Tell him to meet me in seclusion.” He shuffled the books under one arm and hoisted the young woman up by the arm with his free hand. “Follow.” The order is superfluous as he didn’t relinquish his grip on her arm, despite the uncomfortable buzz from proximity to her mana.   
They’d only been alone in the seclusion chambers long enough for him to grow anxious, which quite frankly only took a couple minutes. Seclusion had no furniture, no windows, and only a small latch in the door through which to pass food. It reminded him too much of being trapped in the prismatic cage the night that…   
He cleared his throat when he heard footsteps approach. They would get to the bottom of this once First Enchanter Matthias arrived. The door swung open, but revealed a much smaller mage than Cullen had expected. His shoulders sagged slightly as he registered Shaedra standing in the doorway, Ellaria a few feet behind her, shifting her weight nervously. Of bloody course, perfect.   
“Where’s the First Enchanter?” He snapped as he eyed the two women.   
“He said he was unable to come, but sent me in his stead. I am fully aware of the situation.” Shaedra stood like a statue in the doorway, unmoving until beckoned.   
“Fine, come in.” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice. The weight of the door brought it closed with a resounding thud. Cullen pushed away the stir of emotions he felt when he saw the mingled fear and curiosity plain on Ellaria’s face before she was shut out in the hall.   
“Lily, how are you, dear?” Shaedra asked the mage congenially.   
The young blond, who was standing as far from Cullen as she could without cowering in the corner only nodded in reply.   
“I found Masters with her this morning.”   
Shaedra snapped to attention, mouth agape, but seemed to know better than to ask the question that was so obviously burning at the forefront of her mind, so Cullen continued.   
“He was concerned about the content of her study and quite frankly so am I. To my knowledge we do not have any Dreamers under our care. Studying the Somniari arts without permission of the First Enchanter and Knight Commander are strictly forbidden. The very idea that someone,” he crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at Shaedra, “would ignore this rule so close to Meredith’s…passing…is preposterous. It was her policy that all Dreamers immediately be made Tranquil.”   
His last words hung heavy in the air as he and Shaedra stared at each other in a battle of wills. He had always liked Shaedra, but if she insisted on behaving this way, holding herself and her charges above the rules, he couldn’t protect her or any of the other mages from the rest of the Order. Nor should he, the thought chased the heels of his rant as though he was trying to convince himself as well.    
Cullen rolled his eyes and at his show of waning patience Shaedra finally broke the stalemate, “It was not my intention to go over your head, Knight Commander.”   
He raised an eyebrow wordlessly pleading for a more thorough explanation.   
“Lily only just confided in my yesterday evening, when I was finished with Ellaria. I went to your quarters immediately, but there was no answer. Afterward, I went in search of the First Enchanter and received his permission for checking out those tomes on the subject. She was in such a state about her nightmares, I thought the reading might help her. I was going to tell you this morning. I do apologize.”   
He scratched the stubble on his face. “Masters will want her branded,” he says heavily.   
Lily squealed behind him. “Please, Ser, no! I didn’t mean to! I was only bringing my books to the classroom. Shaedra said to meet her first thing in the morning!”   
“Wait—,” Cullen held up a hand. “You plan on instructing her?”   
Shaedra nodded and answered, “Yes, I honestly don’t know of any other Enchanter who is capable. While I am not a Dreamer, myself, I was the one who helped with Feynriel before—,”she stopped abruptly.   
“Before Feynriel what?” His eyes narrowed. He knew there was something odd about the way Feynriel had disappeared. Everyone had said Meredith had simply made him Tranquil or transferred him, but Cullen would’ve known. She would’ve made him do the paperwork. As controlling as she was, she thought herself much too important to do anything so tedious.   
“Oh, well…” Shaedra stammered.   
“Senior Enchanter!” The title came out harsh and demanding, his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in a bid to relax when he saw Shaedra flinch in response.           
“Well, Hawke…”   
“Maker’s breath.” He held up another silencing hand. “Never mind. Is the boy safe?” Shaedra nodded. “Will he cause any further problems for us here?” She shook her head. “Good, then what are we to do with Lily?”   
Lily scurried forward at her name. “Please, Ser, I don’t want to break any Chantry laws. I just want to learn to guard myself. The night terrors, they’re awful.” She started to snivel and his heart ached. The thought of this young girl, stuck in the Circle, suffering from nightmares night after night after night…it was not that much different than his own life.   
He smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile at Lily and turned back to Shaedra. “How do you intend to teach both Lily and Ellaria?”   
“I don’t. I can’t.”   
His mouth went dry.   
“Lily will take all of my attention if she’s to be protected from what lurks in the Fade. I was hoping, at least for today, until we find someone more suitable for her, you could help Ellaria study. She’s only working on barriers.”   
“Shaedra!” Cullen practically wailed. “How can I—I don’t even—,” he wasn’t sure how to protest the woman’s request, but he knew he had to. He had to stay away from Ellaria if he was to keep his post as Knight Commander. Finally getting his bearings he asked, “Are there no other mages more qualified to teach her?”   
“Ellaria’s magic is still quite unstable. If we put her with someone who casts a spell not thinking or who tries to progress her too quickly, it could be disastrous. I thought about asking if we could put her with one of the other Templars, but she seems so anxious around them. She already knows you. Until her magic stabilizes, it may be best that she only interacts with me and you. If I’m working with Lily, that leaves you.”   
At least Shaedra had the decency to look down when she said that.   
Cullen groaned audibly, angry, excited, and even more angry that he was excited.   
“Fine! Tell her to meet me in the same classroom you used yesterday in fifteen minutes.”   
“She’s right outside…”   
Oh, Andraste’s…that’s right. “Fine,” he said again through ground teeth. “If you see Rylen, tell him to come find me. Us. Me.” He fumbled and started through the door. “Shaedra?”   
“Yes, Knight Commander?”   
“You owe me.”


	8. Rylen

        They’d been at it for hours; he couldn’t help but notice the sweat dripping into Ellaria’s eyes as she wiped at her brow and rounded on the Knight Commander again. Rylen had never seen Cullen drill so hard, not even in the weeks after the Chantry explosion when fear and anger ruled everyone’s decisions. They’d started innocently enough with the same barrier drills that Ellaria had practiced with Shaedra the day before, but Ellaria’s sharp tongue pricked and scraped at Cullen’s short temper until he’d thrown out the entire lesson plan Shaedra had left behind. Cullen barked at her, condemning her inability to take her lessons seriously. As such, he’d decided it was time to move onto personal barriers.    
Rylen winced as he watched Cullen advance on Ellaria with his sword and shield for the fourth time. “Raise your barrier,” his superior ground out through clenched teeth. Ellaria’s barrier raised, but within seconds an electric field swallowed the barrier and with a loud pop the barrier had vanished leaving Ellaria defenseless. Ellaria’s eyes grew wide with fright, but then Rylen noticed something else...a dark, angry expression clouding her visage.   
        “Knight Commander—,” Rylen called out to Cullen. Although he knew he shouldn’t interrupt their lessons, he couldn’t help but try to stop the impending disaster.  
        “Not now, Captain,” Cullen didn’t bother to look away from Ellaria when he dismissed Rylen, he just kept advancing despite the lack of his ward’s barrier. “She will bring up her barrier.” Rylen couldn’t tell who Cullen was trying to convince.  
        The same suffocating feeling from Ellaria’s intake examination overwhelmed Rylen again. With labored breaths, he did his best to maintain focus on Ellaria and Cullen. Cullen circled Ellaria still badgering her about raising a proper barrier, seemingly blind to her losing battle with her emotions. She brought her arms up to cover her face and head, the sliver of her face Rylen could see was drained of all color and a shock of fear. Before Ellaria’s knees hit the floor in a show of complete surrender, a cold blast of air shook the room and Ellaria’s skin snaked with lines of electricity, shooting out in all directions. Rylen rushed forward with an unbalanced Dispelling force, his eyes wide and hands outstretched toward Cullen who was deadlocked in a powerful static cage.   
        When the spell was leached from the air, Cullen dropped to his knees a few feet from Ellaria. Both of them clawed at the ground and sputtered as they struggled to slow their breaths. “Knight—,” Rylen cleared his throat. He took a step closer to Cullen and placed a tentative hand on his superior’s shoulder. “Knight Commander?”    
“Fine, Rylen. I’m fine.” He pushed the young man off with a single shrug of his shoulder and stood, his cheeks purple with rage.    
Rylen bounced on the edge of his boots, torn between backing away and putting himself between Cullen and Ellaria who still knelt on the ground, but had recovered enough to look at the Knight Commander with enough fire in her eyes to ward off just about anyone. After a moment’s indecision, he stepped closer to Ellaria but didn’t say a word to Cullen. He just looked on.    
“What in the void was that?” Cullen demanded of the mage.    
She didn’t say anything, but Rylen found himself impressed with her ability to hold Cullen’s gaze. He’d seen Templars crumble under less of the Commander’s scrutiny. Rylen studied her, his gaze barely leaving her face long enough to register Cullen’s movements. All the strength and fire in her didn’t stop small cracks from forming in her blank facade when Cullen took a step forward. With each step of his Commander, the mage beside him seemed to wilt, her eyes filled with tears she was too stubborn to spill—at least in front of them. By the time Cullen was close enough to touch her, Rylen could feel Ellaria’s magic straining against his Dispelling blast.    
“Well?” Cullen’s jaw clenched around the word.    
“Perhaps we’re all a little overtired from today’s exercises.” The tension hung heavy in the air and Rylen didn’t understand why Cullen had let this new mage get to him this way. There were protocols in place. When a mage over-casts, the senior Templar Dispels them and prohibits them from lessons for the amount of time deemed necessary. Rylen had never seen Cullen break protocol.    
“No.”    
Rylen wasn’t aware Cullen was answering him at first. The Knight Commander hadn’t taken his eyes away from Ellaria’s wild stare to address him.    
“She needs to know that I am a Templar and she is a mage. I am here to teach and protect; she is here to—,”    
A quiet, quavering voice cuts through his tirade. “I am here to learn, not be threatened or be used as a punching bag when something doesn’t go your way.” Ellaria pulled herself to her feet in a fluid motion. She glided toward the door, but before she passed through it she called over her shoulder, “I would like to continue my studies with Ser Rylen if that is okay with you and Shaedra, Knight Commander.”    
Rylen felt his cheeks heat at her request, despite knowing it was only because she didn’t trust Cullen to not lose his temper. Even so, he knew not to turn away from the door until he could face Cullen without even a trace of a blush.    
Her footsteps receded down the hall and the two men were left standing, staring at the open doorway.    
Cullen cleared his throat behind him. “Knight Captain, I’d like to apologize for my behavior.”    
Rylen looked behind him to find Cullen staring at the ground, his shield and sword hanging limply at his sides.    
His stomach flipped nervously as he considered what to say to his superior officer, but decided that although Cullen wouldn’t like what he had to say, it was better it come from him than for Cullen to have another outburst—whatever the cause. “Permission to speak plainly, Ser?”    
Cullen nodded.    
“I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologizing to.” Rylen looked pointedly at the empty doorway.    
“Matthias wanted to see you when we were finished.” Cullen’s tone was clipped and automatic; Rylen knew he likely overstepped his bounds, but it was important that these mages didn’t harbor the same contempt for Cullen they did for Meredith. Plus—he shuddered to even consider it—if he’d seen another Templar berate Lenora the way Cullen went after Ellaria, they’d be having more than just words, officer ranks be damned.    
“Ser.” Rylen saluted and made his way toward the First Enchanter’s office.    
  


:::   
  


        The First Enchanter’s door was closed when Rylen arrived. He should’ve gone to get lunch or made his rounds in the library (after all, it was his turn), but the quiet, rushed chatter caught his attention before he could turn to leave.    
       He couldn’t quite make out what the people inside the office were discussing, but it had obviously gotten everyone worked up into a tizzy. He could discern three, possibly four distinct voices, all of which were talking over one another and rising as they got angrier.    
       “…one month’s time.”    
       “Another…too long!”    
       “This isn’t…more planning!”    
       The words overlapped, disrupted their meaning, and Rylen wondered absently what the First Enchanter could be planning that had caused such commotion. The Templar leaned in and pressed his ear to the scarred wood.    
       “Is he the best choice of the Templars…”    
       Rylen’s brow furrowed as the voices all ceased speaking at once. He leaned harder into the door, straining to hear their plans and how a Templar could fit into them. If nothing else, he’d have to report this to Cullen immediately. But before he could straighten himself up and return to his Knight Commander, the door whipped open and sent him tumbling into the First Enchanter’s office.    
       He did his best to ignore the pulsing in his head and sharp ache in his shoulder as he lay sprawled in the middle of the floor staring up into the faces of three mages.    
       Matthias, the First Enchanter, wrinkled his brow in question at Rylen, but stayed quiet. He should probably say something to them, not just sit there staring at them like a buffoon, but the situation was too reminiscent of his days dodging the older recruits while training in the Chantry. Whenever he’d heard the Templars clanging armor reverberate against the walls, he’d felt his skin crawl and fought the urge to run. On his back exposed and belly up like a trapped animal, the feeling intensified.    
       Shaedra, the only one of them he’d had any real contact with, pushed her way between the men, and towered over him, enveloping his entire view. “Are you alright, son?” The woman smiled knowingly; she shouldn’t be addressing him so informally, but she’d been there for decades longer than he had and she was daring him to call her on it.    
       “Fine.” Rylen pulled himself off the stone floor and glowered between the First Enchanter and a shaggy, blond man who both remained silent. “Did you need me for something?”    
       Matthias gestured to a long table lined with chairs and the three mages quickly took a seat. Rylen elected to stand behind his chair and kicked at its legs absently.    
       “I’m sorry, First Enchanter, I really don’t have much time.”    
       Orsino made this new First Enchanter look like a child; his auburn hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail and he’d grown a disturbingly long goatee to match. Rylen certainly wasn’t a fan of Orsino, and he’d never been one to judge a book by his cover, but this strong, silent vibe Matthias was going for wasn’t working for him. Quite frankly, he found Matthias a little sleazy.    
       “I don’t know how to broach the subject, Knight Captain.” The words caught Rylen off guard, but he couldn’t help noticing how the scratchy, penetrating voice matched the seemingly unsavory person in front of him.    
       “I recommend being straightforward.” Rylen’s eyes flickered toward the door as the afternoon bells drifted in the window from across the courtyard. He rested his weight on the back of his chair and looked between the mages, beseeching one of them to get to the point.    
       “Well, we know about your sister, Lenora.”    
       Rylen’s heart stopped and his blood froze in his veins. A million questions filled his head at once. How did they know about Lenora? Only Cullen was privy to that information. What did they know about her? That she was a mage? That she died? That he killed her? That he still saw her sweet face morphing into an ungodly horror every time he closed his eyes?    
       He opened his mouth to ask a question, but only a choked sob came out.    
       “We know how hard it is to lose a loved one, especially in such troublesome conditions as the Harrowing.”    
       His knuckles turned white against the grip on the back of the chair and he kicked at it again, less absently than before. The table rattled against the force and the blond mage cried out in surprise.    
       Matthias had the gall to cross his arms and stare disapprovingly at Rylen for the outburst, but Shaedra had a gentler touch. The woman leaned forward, extended her hand across the table in a gesture of goodwill. “Knight Captain, we don’t mean to dredge up a painful history.”    
       Rylen scoffed.    
       “We only thought you might be best suited to hear our concerns, because you understand.” There was an emptiness at the end of her words, but Rylen heard what she meant to say. He understood what they were afraid of. He understood what could happen if they weren’t careful. He understood, because the worst had already happened to him.    
       He wanted to be angry, but only found a desperate, panicky loneliness instead; he squeezed his eyes tight against the burn and tried to recall the breathing exercises Cullen had taught him.    
       After what felt like a lifetime, he finally had gathered his senses and could speak to the three mages before him. “What do you need?”    
       “We have noticed troubling…patterns among one of your Templar brothers, Darach Masters. He is becoming more and more violent with each passing day. The young female mages especially…they fear for their safety.”    
       A heavy weight pulled at Rylen’s gut and he fought to stay silent as he looked between them. Matthias and Shaedra stared back, giving him examples of the frightful behavior of the Knight Lieutenant; but the other mage, the blond, he refused to meet his gaze and hadn’t spoke aside from a startled gasp.    
       “Have you had any contact with Masters?” Rylen asked the blond directly.    
       “No, but I’ve heard stories,” he mumbled, still not meeting his eyes.    
       Rylen kicked at the chair again and groans. “I can’t very well accuse a fellow officer because you’ve heard stories.”    
       “We wouldn’t want you to!” Matthias jumped up, despite the blond’s open mouth. “We only ask that you pay attention to his comings and goings. To who he talks to, for how long. To how he treats certain mages.”    
       “You want me to spy, then?” He carded his fingers through his short hair and wished that Lenora were here to help him through this. The thought left a sour note in his gut.    
       “Not spy, just be extra attentive. We don’t want you to report back to us or even to your superiors. We just want you to take a look and come to your own conclusions.”    
       He thought for a long moment, staring at his hand marred with the scar of the night he lost Lenora. He thought of her laughing at him as he tried to braid her hair because their mother was busy. He thought about how they held each other and cried when her magic first appeared. He thought of her shy, but triumphant grin when she told him about her first kiss. What would Lenora want him to do? What would he do if Lenora were still here, at the hands of a man like Darach Masters?    
       “First Enchanter?” A meek voice interrupted his memories. A young mage…Lily, if his memory was to be trusted…stood in the doorway holding an armful of books that seemed likely to tip her over. “Am I early?    
       Maker, was Lenora ever that young?    
       “Fine. I’ll look into it.” He fled from the room before he could hear Lily speak again. Her soft spoken manner was too similar to Lenora and he’d had enough walks down Memory Lane today.


	9. Anders

       Okay, so making a run past Cullen in the hallway wasn’t his best escape attempt. He knew that, but Anders had better things to do than sit around and twiddle this thumbs while he waited for the Circles to disband. He’d almost escaped with Hawke and the others during the uprising last year. Well, no, he had escaped during the uprising. He just hadn’t been able to stay that way. They had stopped in a little no-name village for supplies when a Templar recruit had spotted them; battered and weak from the days of fighting and the showdown with Meredith, he’d gone down easily from one mana drain, his legs incapable of sustaining his weight. It was beyond embarrassing. Then they dragged him back to the Gallows. Not to Kinloch, the Circle he'd escaped in the first place. Oh, no. The Gallows. He’d been in Circles before, hell, he’d been in Circles with Cullen before, this wasn’t the end of the world, but it sure as hell wasn't a picnic. What he couldn’t figure out was why Hawke hadn’t mounted the offensive yet.   
His vision blurred as he glared at the stacks of letters he’d written to Hawke, Varric, and Merrill; Maker’s balls, he’d even written to Fenris. He just had to find someone to mail them. Someone who wasn’t denied mail privileges. Someone…new. Anders snapped to attention, bolting out of bed, and frantically searched his room. The Templars had taken almost everything that wasn’t furniture; the only items he found were vellum and a quill. He was crestfallen. No, that wouldn’t do. There’d be no way to get a letter to the new girl, his raven-haired angel. He was locked in. Again. Locked in until…well, he couldn’t very well wait until they came for him.   
He groaned, fury building in his body. His chest heaving as he tried to breathe, his head spinning until his vision blurred. He could feel the heat radiating from him, the pure emotion suffocating him until his skin began to crackle and glow a faint blue until he grabbed the desk chair and hurled it at the wall.   
He froze and stared at the splintered wood, his chest heaving as the glow receded. He wasn’t sure he even heard it; it was hard to tell over the cracking of the chair against the wall, but…   
He walked over to the stone wall and cleared away the remnants of the chair with a sweep of his long leg. “Hello?” He ventured and then scowled; there’s no way she’d hear him through the solid stone. It was ridiculous of him to even try.   
“Hello?” A quiet voice called back from close to the floor and he jumped back as a small finger wiggled through a hole in the wall barely a foot above the dusty floorboards.    
“Well, I’ll be a nug’s uncle.” He grinned and dropped to his knees. “Hello…Ella-something, right?”    
“Ellaria.” The voice corrected him promptly, but she didn’t sound short-tempered or rude.   
“A pleasure to meet you, Ellaria,” he pushed his finger against hers and wiggled it up and down.   
His face flushed, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment for his display of emotion. He ran his long, knobby fingers through his hair, brushing at it repeatedly, but it fell in front of his eyes regardless. He huffed at the lock as he wracked his brain for something to say.   
“Are you…okay?” Her words were quiet, but full of emotion, voice thick and raspy as though she’d been choking back tears of her own.   
“Oh, never better.” He wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. He made himself comfortable on the floor, the stone a cooling comfort soaking through his robes as he leaned against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him.   
“Why are you here?”   
He sputtered. “Boy, you don’t waste any time, do you?”   
“I’m sorry.” She immediately backtracked, mumbling about private lessons at first, before she began to gasp and wheeze, tears audible in her words, about Cullen yelling and her fear of Templars and some man named Cade. The second this mysterious Templar’s name left her lips, however, she stopped her tirade and all Anders could hear was hushed sniffling.   
He turned on his hip, just enough to stick two fingers back through the hole in the mortar, reaching for her.   
Her warm fingers clasped around his and they sat in silence for several moments. Anders understood all too well the fear of a Templar. Not Templars—plural—but a Templar. The one who seeks you out in a crowd and stalks you until you find yourself cornered and alone in a dark corridor. There was nothing he could say that would stop the all-consuming fear she felt, she would have to work through it on her own, but she didn’t have to work through it on her own alone. He squeezed his fingers against hers, a gentle motion just to let her know that he was still there, he knew and he wasn’t going anywhere.    
Enough time passed that Anders back began to ache and he wondered if his new friend had fallen asleep crying into the stone wall they shared. He shifted ever so slightly, anything to try and relieve the pressure from the old Warden injury in his back that was screaming at him. The movement either woke her or roused her from her own thoughts because her quiet voice was enough to cut the air. “Anders?”   
“Yes, sweetheart?” The endearment rolled off his tongue before he could bite it back and he was flashing back to his hasty, reckless flirtations with Hawke.     
“Is it always like this here?”   
The mixture of resignation and fear in her voice broke something in him and before he could answer he had to focus on swallowing back the angry glow of Justice. He couldn't help her now; in fact, he'd probably just scare her and make matters so much worse. “I'm sorry. I don't know. I don't get out much.”    
A loud, frustrated knock at his door punctuated his sentence.    
He clambered up off the floor, knees and hips popping. “Shit…” The curse was quiet enough that Ellaria couldn't have heard him, but there was no way she missed the angry knocking.    
“What?” He hissed at the closed door.    
“Tonight” The voice behind the door informed him and Anders watched as the shadow receded from the door. He rubbed at his temples and did his best to hold in a long groan.    
After a few minutes, a curious voice interrupted his rumination. “Don’t get out much?” Her voice was teasing more than accusatory, but it still stung. She continued before he could answer. “What was that about? What's tonight?”   
Anders had no way of knowing whether this new girl could be trusted. After all, when the first met, body slam to body slam, she'd been getting friendly with the Knight Commander, enemy number one. This time he did groan, quite audibly even.    
“I have…ground privileges.” He chose his words carefully, but even saying what he did was a risk to what was in motion.    
She hummed but didn’t sound overly impressed. Anders was concerned he’d made a mistake when she began to talk again. “Everywhere I go has to be with that Knight Commander, Cullen.”   
He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what he should say.   
“I thought he was okay.” There was a pregnant pause. “At first.”   
All the tension in Anders body leaked out and he found himself settling on the floor again. “What happened?”    
She spun a story that didn’t sound like Cullen at all. Angry, short-tempered, aggressive to the point that she felt truly threatened. “I finally had enough when he had me on the floor,” she began to sniffle again, “charging at me with his Templar sword and shield. It didn’t feel like training. It felt like…punishment.”    
It was quiet for a few minutes.   
“Anders?”   
“I’m here.” His voice reverberated against Justice’s voice, deep and angry.    
“Anders are you alright?”   
There were a few more minutes of silence and then a cough before his normal voice answered, “Fine, just fine.”   
He thought for a moment, knowing that Matthias would flay him alive…but…   
“Hey, Ellaria?”   
“Yeah?”   
“Would you like to come with me tonight?”


	10. Ellaria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the long chapter makes up for the six week absence! I have a beautiful, talented beta so things are running more smoothly now. 
> 
> That said, the first nine chapters are much cleaner. I love you all for your patience and kind comments, they really have kept the story alive! 
> 
> Important for returning readers: There was a minor edit in Chapter 6 that establishes Anders was friends with Solona Amell.

* * *

  
  
Templar Gardens

* * *

         “What if they do room checks?” Ellaria asked.  
          “Don’t worry yourself, we have it covered. I just need a minute to talk to them when they come get us.” He sounded nervous, but Ellaria couldn’t be sure. They had only just met and it was quite possible she was only projecting her own anxiety onto him.  
          Their conversation died down after that. She tried to nap, assuming that their nighttime escapades would infringe on a great deal of her sleep, but Anders had begun to pace and each time he crossed the room a floorboard groaned under his weight. Instead of asking him to stop—she understood the plight of a caged animal all too well—she tried to make a game of it. Each time the floorboard would creak, she would create a small ball of electricity in her hands and quell the spell before the creak silenced. In the calmness of her own room, the serenity of a Templar-free zone, she had more control than she expected. While she was unable to quell the spell in time, the small crackling ball grew no bigger than a golf ball each time she called it forth from the Fade.  
          She must’ve dozed off at some point because she woke up to a sharp knock at Anders’ door.  
          She pulled herself to the edge of her bed and stretched, listening carefully to the muffled voices in the hallway. Unfortunately, she couldn’t decipher much of the visitor’s conversation, only the occasional word or phrase would drift through the small window that had been cut through her room’s thick wooden door. Even with only snatches of the conversation, it was clear that Anders’ visitor was unhappy with him.  
          She quickly grew frustrated with the tone of voice the visitor continued to use and, tightening the belt around her robes, pulled open her door to put a stop to the nonsense. She stopped. She stared.  
          Anders and…yes, she was fairly certain…First Enchanter Matthias stared back at her. She studied Anders’ face properly for the first time. His mess of blond hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, barely long enough to stay in the tie. He wore the same robes she did, but they were pulled on and tied haphazardly which gave him a disheveled, slept-in appearance. But his most striking feature was the kindness evident behind his honey colored eyes. He stared at her shocked, as if the idea she would venture into the hall before he retrieved her from her room would never occur to him.  
          They stood in an awkward circle before Anders finally seemed to gather his thoughts. “Oh, well, uh…Ellaria, this is Matthias, the First Enchanter. Have you met yet?” He ran knobby fingers through his hair, incidentally pulling his tie free. He swore under his breath and bent to pick up the small string of leather from the floor.  
          “No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” Ellaria smiled—more so at Anders’ antics—as she nodded to the First Enchanter.  
          “Yes, I recall Shaedra mentioning a new pupil. She was fascinated by the strength of your abilities. It’s such a shame she won’t be able to instruct you.” A heavy silence accompanied the end of his sentence, pointing out that while Ellaria had strength she was still severely lacking control. She felt her expression sour. Despite Matthias’ pleasantries, Ellaria found herself ill at ease. The First Enchanter reminded her more of a Templar than a mage; he seemed stiff and irritable, averse to any change in plans, and primed to point out even the smallest of her flaws. If she focused intently on her childhood memories, she could almost remember her father acting the same way whenever she was in the room. She wondered for a moment if the issue was with her, but before the anxiety could take hold Anders warm hand pressed gently into the crook of her elbow.  
          “We have a lot planned for this evening, I was hoping we could get started before it gets too late.” His smile was warm and inviting.  
          “Anders,” Matthias started, the older man scratching vigorously at the side of his head, “I still don’t think taking Ellaria is the best idea. What we’re doing tonight requires…” He stopped and debated his words before charging on bluntly, “It requires a calm atmosphere and she isn’t the type of mage who can guarantee one.”  
          “I don’t…” Anders looked between them, confused. When both mages started to explain, their words overlapping into a raucous discord of voices, Anders waved his hands wildly in the air shushing them. “Alright, whatever. That’s enough. It’s just a simply trip into the Templar gardens. Easy peasy.”  
          “Templar gardens? Anders I really don’t—”  
But Anders cut Ellaria off. “Enough jabber! There won’t even be any Templars there this time of night. We just need to pick up a couple ingredients that typically aren’t…authorized for mage use.” He scratched at his nose and ducked back into his room, talking all the while. “We’ll be in and out, quick as a cat, quiet as a mouse, Bob’s your uncle, whatever stupid saying they have in—what kind of accent is that? Free Marches?—Ostwick, then.”  
          “Fine!” It was clear Matthias had had enough. “You two do whatever you need to do. I will stay here to ensure that if any Templars come by for checks, we at least have a semi-believable authority figure telling them that you’re in your rooms.”  
          “That’s your plan?” Ellaria didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, especially after Matthias shot her a filthy look.  
          “You’d be surprised how many times it’s worked in the past,” he answered flatly. “Go. They’re more likely to do checks in the early morning. The last thing we want is someone wondering where our newest addition ran off to,” he smirked nastily.  
          Ellaria turned down the hallway and started toward the main hall assuming Anders would follow. Matthias’s attitude wasn’t what she needed right now, especially if she needed to stay calm in case they ran into any Templars on guard. By the time she reached the stairwell Anders had caught up to her, but neither one said a word. She simply looked at him for directions and he ushered her through the stairwell door and down toward the main hall.  
          Following Anders mimed directions to the Templars’ garden took much longer than anticipated. At every corner the mages had to stop, wait, and listen for any signs of a Templar patrol. Several times as they wound their way through the Tower they were forced to backtrack to avoid being discovered. They had passed through the main hall and into another hall way when Ellaria heard Darach Masters’ voice. She’d shared a carriage with him for the better part of a day when they’d captured her in the western Free Marches. He was cruel and vile. He’d asked what kind magic she could do with her pretty mouth and Ellaria had almost thrown up, hot tears spilling angrily onto her cheeks. She’d been shackled and Cleansed. There was nothing she could do except sit and take whatever vulgarities he threw at her. Thankfully there was another Templar in the carriage that kept Masters at least somewhat in line. But hearing his voice again she couldn’t help but have the same visceral reaction. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and listened to the filth spilling from his mouth.  
          “—such a sweet piece of ass. So small and scared. You should’ve seen her. She would’ve been putty in my hands if Rutherford hadn’t interrupted.”  
          Ellaria didn’t even notice she’d been advancing, hands sparking with bolts of electricity until Anders pulled at her, he tugged and yanked, until he was forced to wrap one arm around her waist and pull her into an empty classroom. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?”  
          The electricity in her palms intensified, breaking free from her hands and racing over her body in flashes of purple and white. The stinging in her eyes became too much and she let the tears flow freely, streaking her cheeks and neck, not bothering to wipe them away even though it burned each time a spark touched the wet tracks. “He can’t—,” she gulped in air, “He can’t hurt her, not again.” Another choked sob escaped her. “It’s not her fault, it’s not. What he did, it’s…”  
          Anders hugged her fiercely, crushing her to his chest, her electricity jumping from her body to his wrapping them in the purple lights of her uncontrolled spell. A bright blue light exploded from him, but then quickly receded into a soft glow that filled Ellaria with a sense of calm and relief. The sparks slowed with every breath she took. By the time Anders pulled away from the hug, the purple bolts of electricity were gone and all Ellaria was left with were frizzy curls and a profound fatigue.  
          “I’m sorry—,” she began. She even had a whole speech planned. She’d known she would eventually have an episode like this in front of someone, an episode when she hadn’t been expecting it.  
          He hushed her and raised his hand to her cheek, but thought better of it. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” Damn, there goes that easy word again. He cleared his throat. “It’s these assholes who need to learn manners.” She nodded and that was all he needed. “That’s better. Let’s get going, we need to hurry before their morning Chantry service. Sometimes they use the garden.”  
          “Won’t the door be locked?” Ellaria closed her eyes and sat on one of the empty tables. She focused on the warmth of Anders’ body standing in front of her instead of the wobbling in her legs.  
          “No, the garden is in an enclosed courtyard. There’s nowhere to go, no way to escape. When this place was a hub for the Tevinter slave trade, the Magisters or slavers or whoever would take the slaves to the courtyard to grow and harvest their own food. The story goes that they tried to use an open field near Sundermount, but the slaves kept running away. Imagine that.” Anders cocked his head and peered at her as if taking stock.  
She opened one eye and appraised him, then opened the other. “How do you know that?” She almost laughed, but couldn’t quite find the energy.  
          “Lily told me; you’ll meet her soon, she’s fantastic. A little light on convention, but she means well.” When Ellaria didn’t answer him, he continued. “She’s a Dreamer.”  
          “Oh!” She exclaimed suddenly, her head reeling from the sudden outburst. “I have met her! Well, sort of. I saw her this morning. She’s actually the reason why Cullen was so angry with me.”  
          Anders’ features darkened and he shifted, turning his shoulder to her. “No, Cullen wasn’t angry with you. Cullen was just angry because he’s always struggled with young, attractive mages. Steer clear of him, Ellaria. He’s bad news.”  
          Ellaria nodded solemnly. The air between them seemed to warm back up and Anders extended his hand to her, pulling her from the tabletop. “Come, we don’t have much time.”  
          Masters had moved on by the time they emerged from the classroom; with neither he, nor any other Templar in sight, they made their way down the last hallway and into the courtyard.  
          Ellaria gasped when the cool, fall air hit her face for the first time in days. It was fresh and smelled of salt and sand, despite her not being able to see or hear the water from the courtyard. She inhaled deeply to feel a burning in her lungs, holding in the pleasurable scents for as long as she could before letting it rush out of her. Then she noticed the magnificent garden. Yes, there were several rows of stone planter boxes full of colorful herbs and spices, but what caught her eye was everything else. The walls were overgrown with a dark, lush ivy. Most of the ivy’s buds had gone dormant for the winter, but a few resilient white flowers still clung to the vine. Scattered throughout the garden were sculpted topiaries, shaped in simple geometric patterns. But what drew Ellaria’s attention the most lay directly across the courtyard from the door where she and Anders stood: a towering willow tree, it’s sweeping branches dipping into a pond. As Ellaria approached the tree and pond, she noticed the ceramic mosaic laid out underneath the clear water. It’s once beautiful colors depicted the story of Andraste, Maferath, and Hessarian.  
          She nearly jumped when Anders appeared at her elbow. He looked down at her and smiled, his eyes sparkling. “I got what we needed.” He held up a small pouch of herbs before stuffing them into his robe.  
          “Sorry, I…It’s just so beautiful.”  
          “I know.” He wasn’t looking at the mosaic.  
          “It must’ve been put here by the Templars. I can’t imagine Tevinter slavers would want to remember this part of their history,” she mused softly.  
          Anders turned to her, his hand held for hers. Her hand had almost clasped his when the door to the courtyard creaked. Anders pressed a finger softly to his lips and pulled her behind the great willow tree. Using his body to shield hers, he tipped his head just far enough around the tree to see what was going on. Ellaria had to stifle a gasp when Anders’ honey brown eyes sparked with an otherworldly blue light.  
          Anders pulled back behind the tree, his eyes closed tight. “No, no, no.” He whispered to himself, his head leaning absently against Ellaria’s.  
          Ellaria knew she shouldn’t talk, they were both done for should they be discovered, but she had to know what was going on. She had to know what had happened to Anders…  
          His hands started to glow.  
          “Anders…?” Ellaria’s  voice was barely audible, the gentle breeze through the willow’s branches covering any chance of her voice carrying across the courtyard.  
Before Anders could respond a choked sob shook Ellaria to the core. “Please, Ser, Shaedra settled everything with the Knight Commander this morning. Everything’s been approved.” Ellaria knew that voice—it belonged to that tiny, blonde mage from this morning, the one Anders had talked about…Lily.  
          Anders continued to glow blue, muttering to himself, a scattered prayer that Ellaria couldn’t decipher, but the Masters’ words were clear. “You may have settled things with the Commander,” he spat, “but  I have other needs that have to be settled. Then we can forget all about our little misunderstanding this morning.”  
          Ellaria felt a tear roll down her cheek, a familiar buzzing starting to crawl across her skin. She had to help this poor girl; she knew what it was like to stand where Lily stands, thinking no one is coming to help. But, what could she do? She looked warily at Anders as he wrenched at his hair, still muttering incoherently.  
          Before Ellaria could settle on a plan of action, Anders’ skin exploded with the blue light and he stepped out from the cover of the willow tree. “Unhand the mage.” Ellaria stared aghast. It was Anders’ body, but that was not Anders’ voice. His usually soft and canorous speech had been replaced by something rumbling and discordant.  
“Anders.” Masters sauntered forward, one had hooked lazily onto belt while the other rested on his sword. “I see your little friend has come out to play.”  
          “You fiends will never touch a mage again,” Anders advanced on Masters, the blue glow pulsating with every step.  
          When Masters drew his sword and sneered, clearly thrilled for a chance to harm Anders, Ellaria burst out from her hiding place. She finally had a friend; she finally met a warm, kind person who understood her plight. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him. She didn’t stand a chance against Masters, so she must appeal to Anders…or whatever he was.  
          She gave a quick nod to Lily who crouched behind one of the stone planters, too frightened to move any farther; then, she stood between the two men, both a head taller than she. After casting a look at look at Masters, she turned her back to him and pressed her hands against Anders’ glowing chest. “Anders, you must stop.”  
         Rage  flashed in his eyes when he looked down at her. “This injustice cannot stand.”  
          She pushed harder, “No. He will kill you, Anders.” She looked back at Masters, who smiled nastily and swiped his sword at the air.  
          “Move, mage. I’ve been wanting to do this for years.”  
          She whimpered and felt her own magic begin to spark. She pushed harder against Anders’ chest, but the anger in his eyes only grew. The blue light emanating from him began to swirl and spin, a small whirlwind of light gathering speed and strength until it exploded outward into the courtyard blowing Ellaria and Masters back.  
Ellaria crashed into one of the stone planters, her back taking the brunt of the fall. Her vision darkened and the sounds around her dampened. She tried to stand, but her body screamed at her every movement. She blinked through the haze and watched as Masters stood, gathered his sword. Masters lunged at Anders. Ellaria heard a pained cry as she lost consciousness.  
  
          A cool hand brushed hair from her face, gentle and timid. Her spine felt like it’d been tied in knots and her head ached, a sharp, burning pain that doubled when she moved her head to nuzzle the hand at her cheek. “Anders…,” her voice croaked.  
          He didn’t respond and the hand pulled away, short and stuttering as if whoever it was didn’t want to part with her skin.  
          She opened her eyes and blinked several times before the two faces above her came into focus. The sweet, blonde girl with large brown eyes smiled broadly at her. Next to Lily was Knight Commander Cullen. Ellaria tried to pull away, but her body rebelled and she felt ill with the sudden motion.  
          “Shhh, it’s okay,” he said, a calmer voice than she’d ever heard from him. “You’re alright, but you shouldn’t move; not until the healer gets here.” He reached out, but his hand awkwardly changed course and went to his neck instead. He rubbed at the skin there until it grew pink, then he broke the uncomfortable silence. “Lily came to get me. She said Masters had pulled her from her room.” His jaw clenched a couple times before he continued, “She said Anders interrupted Masters’…and you tried to stop their fight.” His words came faster after Masters was no longer the focus. “That was when Lily left to get help. What happened?”  
          “I don’t know.” Her throat felt dry and her words rasped, but she tried to speak as best she could. “There was some blue energy that exploded and threw me and Masters backward. After that, I saw Masters get back up and charge at Anders with his sword. Then I blacked out.” She suddenly realized she didn’t see Anders anywhere.  
          “Where is he? Where’s Anders?” She tried to sit up again, panicked, but Cullen gently pressed his palms to her shoulders and lowered her back down onto the soil of garden bed.  
          “He’s fine. A little worse for wear, but he’ll be fine.”  
          Lily looked at her hands.  
          “Where’s Anders?” Ellaria repeated.  
          “Examination chambers,” Lily said.  
          “He’s being interrogated? Is Masters there?” She was hysterical.  
          “He attacked a Templar, Ellaria. I had no choice.”  
          “Is Masters there?!”  
          “No.” Cullen’s eyes flickered to the door when a mage dressed in blue and white robes entered the gardens. “He wanted to be, but I denied his request.”  
          “Thank you,” Ellaria whispered. “Cullen…,” Ellaria waited until Cullen met her gaze. “What is he?”  
          There was a long silence as Cullen deliberated what to say. “He carries a spirit...a demon...within him. He’s an abomination.”  
          Ignoring Ellaria’s stunned expression, Cullen nodded and stood, dusting the dirt from the knees of his trousers. He stepped aside and let the healer do his work, a soft blue light immediately engulfing Ellaria’s torso and head.  
          Once the healing was complete, Ellaria could stand much more easily. She was still unsteady on her feet, however, and had to be escorted to her room. She couldn’t help but notice that Cullen only touched her when she would stumble or trip. An odd contrast from other Templars she’d known who paw at a mage any chance they get, even if it’s just a rough yank of their arm.  
          Her anxiety flared when he entered her room, but when he announced that he only wanted to make sure she had everything she needed and wouldn’t require any more assistance, she tried her best to calm her jackhammering heart.  
          “Don’t.” She held out a palm, warding him away. “I’m fine,” she assured him as she stood next to the desk. She wouldn’t go near her bed until he was gone. Even if he seemed the perfect gentlemen right now, there was no reason to tempt fate.  
          She nodded a farewell and watched him leave, but her interest was piqued when she heard voices in the hall.  
          Anders, Matthias, and Cullen were gathered a few feet away from her door. Anders had a bandage peeking out from under his robe’s neckline and a yellowed bruise on his face. Magical healing could only go so far. She wondered if abominations were harder to heal and her stomach turned. She’d never met an abomination before; she’d been raised from a very young age to fear demons and abominations. Her mother’s clan raised her to appreciate what spirits had to offer, but to always be wary of their trickery and deceit. Was Anders friendship a trick as well? She tried to quell the fear rising in her and focused on the men’s exchange from her doorway.  
          “Everything okay?” Cullen asked the First Enchanter.  
          “Same as usual,” Matthias answered shortly. “Templar abuse, Justice seeks retribution.”  
          Cullen nodded. “Anders, Masters will be dealt with, I assure you.”  
          Anders made a noise halfway between a grunt and a scoff.   
          “Matthias, please see to it that his door remains locked for the time being.”  
          “Knight Commander,” Matthias acknowledged.  
          After Cullen left, Ellaria watched as Anders pulled the small leather pouch of herbs from his battered robe. “You’re lucky it was Rellius who did the healing before the Examination,” his nose scrunched with distaste. “He kept the herbs safe for me.”  
          “Next time don’t let that monster of yours endanger our plans.” The First Enchanter snatched the pouch from Anders hands and turned on his heel, marching down the hall, his auburn ponytail swinging with every angry step.  
          It would be weeks before Matthias would come for Anders again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my Beta-Reader, [WhiskersOnKittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskersOnKittens)  
> She’s pretty darn awesome.


	11. Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY DRAGON 4GE DAY TO YOU ALL! <3

         Her sharp nails dug at the tender skin of her scalp, the slight tearing sensation she felt as her hair rebelled against her fingers grounded her. She rocked back and forth, not bothered a lick by the grime her robes were doubtlessly picking up. She tried to talk herself down. When she opened her eyes, it would be gone. Open…and gone. Please, be gone. She heard a nearly inhuman whine escape her.  
         She opened her eyes.  
         Two black eyes stared at her, its gaping maw filled with three rows of needle-like teeth. It grinned. “There she is, my little sweetling.”  
         She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.  
         “That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” the demon purred. It circled around her, a predator ready to pounce. She felt cold fingers drag along her shoulders as it spoke. “You need only consent in your heart.”  
         She didn’t answer and did her best to steel her head and heart against the creature’s mind games. The demon frowned, one of its teeth cutting into its lower lip.  
         “But sweetling, think of what we could accomplish together. Your special magic, my ingenuity.” Somehow the demon made his lad word have twice as many syllables as it should. Lily started to pray, reciting her favorite passage from the Chant of Light.  
         The demon howled—not an angry sound, but forlorn and beaten. “Sweetling, no!” It wailed and plunked down beside her, its gangly arm wrapping around her shoulders, cold ichor oozing down her back.  
         Lily lost what little composure she’d maintained when it touched her. Her eyes clamped shut, her hands held tightly over her ears, and she started to scream louder than she could ever remember screaming. Her scream felt like it lasted for hours, days even, leaching every ounce of energy from her body until she could barely hold herself up. A fresh jolt of fear lanced through her upon the realization that if she didn’t wake up soon, she may not have the energy to say no to the demon again. She might say yes to just get it to stop. To just let her wake up. Tears leaked out from her tightly closed eyes as her scream finally began to die.  
         “You mustn’t yell. Demons are all around. If you yell, they will come. There is already too many. You mustn’t yell.” The voice was gentle and oh, so quiet. She wasn’t even sure how she heard it through the noise.  
         She stopped screaming, but trembled none-the-less; she could still feel the heavy chill of the demon’s arm draped across her shoulders.  
         “Thank you,” said the stranger. Although she could hear the voice clearly, there was an indistinct murmur beneath it that she couldn’t decipher. She had to open her eyes. She was only doing herself a disservice by staying blind in the Fade.  
         “Leave.” The stranger’s voice turned hard, serious. “She’s told you no, Greed. Leave.”  
         The cold arm was gone, the ichor that dripped down her back vanished as well. Only a memory of the sensation remained.  
         She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, but could only see a blinding bright light blocking the rest of the Fade from her vision. The murmur grew louder.  
         The gentle voice rang out with sternness again, “The rest of you be gone. You don’t deserve her. Go, on your way!”  
         She shielded her eyes and tried to see what was happening through the bright light, but the light only swelled, its intensity too great to continue to watch. She buried her face in the robes bunched on her knees and continued to pray.  
         Once everything was silent, a warm hand touched her shoulder. “You are okay now.” The words were spoken in a peculiar fashion, neither question nor statement.  
         She looked up from her robes, her face still tear-streaked and smudged with the dirt of…wherever she was. But the being in front of her was immaculate. It was still mostly light, only a vague outline of a body stood before her. She wasn’t even sure if the body was male or female.  
         “I—,” Lily began but wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. The two simply stared at one another for a moment. When the stranger seemingly cocked their head out of curiosity something within Lily relaxed. It was a simple gesture that she’d often seen her Mabari Cassius do. The memory brought a broad smile to the young girl’s face. “What are you?” Lily was torn between reaching out to touch the stranger and taking a step back in search of safety.  
         “I am a Spirit of Wisdom.” A small crease appeared between Lily’s brow, but the spirit explained before Lily could even ask. “Your screams were so loud; I was curious what could cause such a disturbance here. Most mages who…,” the Spirit of Wisdom trailed off as if worried it would offend Lily. After a brief pause, it continued. “Most mages who enter the Fade with such fear commit to a Demon’s bargain quickly. You did not.”  
         Lily recalled Shaedra’s instructions earlier that evening and how her gut twisted painfully when she was told to enter the Fade and stay there until she found an entity. Shaedra’s teaching style relied very heavily on sink or swim, but Lily wondered how much of that was planning and how much was Shaedra dedicating her time to Matthias’ plan. Shaedra would certainly be hearing from her tomorrow—this assignment was bullshit.  
         She gathered her wits and addressed the sparkling form standing as it knelt in front of her, “Do you have any advice for me?”  
         “I have a great deal of advice. I have seen civilizations rise and fall, I have seen avoidable deaths during childbirth because of negligence, I have seen the abuses that now plague the schools of magic in your world, I have even seen the misguided plans of some who aim to stop those abuses by any means necessary.”  
         A cold sweat gathered on the back of Lily’s neck. There’s no way this creature could know anything of Matthias’ plans, not without a host to cross the Veil. Even if it did know, why would it bother to interrupt a plan to stop abuse? They were in the right!  
         Her thoughts derailed when the spectral form in front of her cracked, a dark line turning upward as it divided the incandescence. The spirit was smiling!  
         “Uhh…”  
         “Do not worry; I have no desire to interfere with the trials of men.” The light ghosted a few feet away. The shaking voice sounded farther off as if the spirit were facing the horizon. “I have interfered before. It did not turn out as we had hoped.”  
         Lily clambered to her feet and carefully approached the light. “How do you know so much if you are not bound?”  
         “Bound. How barbaric.” The light burst, its rays growing so bright, Lily had to again shield her eyes.  
         “I’m sorry—I meant no offense. I’m only learning.”  
         The light dimmed and started to float away. Just as Lily was about to force herself awake, the spirit called back to her.“Are you coming? You have much to learn and I have much to teach.”

:::

         Lily carried her lunch tray across the hall to the corner and sat down a blissfully empty table. She pushed aside her grey stew in favor of the yeast roll and cup of tea when the new girl slid onto the bench across from her.  
         “Lily, right?” Ellaria looked drawn and tired, but her eyes bounced around the room like wildfire.  
         Lily nodded and dunked a dripping honey dipper into her teacup for the third time. Ellaria’s eyebrow quirked, but she stayed quiet. When it became clear that Lily didn’t intend to continue the conversation, Ellaria pressed on. “What do you know about Anders?”  
         Her blue eyes went wide and she silently cursed herself for the tell when Ellaria leaned forward, demanding to know more.  
         “I knew it, someone had to know more about him. What’s the deal?”  
         “I’m sorry, no.” Her voice still hoarse from screaming and Lily made a mental note to find the chapter in one of her Dreamer books about how the Fade physically affects the real world of the Dreamer.  
         Ellaria opened her mouth to object, to beg—Lily could see the girl’s eyes alight with the joy of unheard gossip. She couldn’t blame her, there wasn’t much for the average mage to do in The Gallows. She took a sip of her tea to hide her smirk as she thought of the meeting she’d be going to that evening. It took months of begging and pleading before Shaedra would even consider letting her accompany her to a meeting. She was even more of an asset with the Spirit of Wisdom’s help; when Lily had informed Shaedra of the night’s visitors and all she had learned, she finally acquiesced. Lily would help with the biggest—  
         “I won’t tell, I promise!”  
         Oh, right. “I’m sorry, no.” She said again, but this she elaborated. “If you want to know,you’ll have to go to Anders.”  
         Ellaria grumbled but seemed to accept being told no. After a moment of awkward silence, she pointed to the grey stew Lily had pushed aside. “Are you going to eat that?”  
         Lily shook her head and Ellaria pulled it to her and began to shovel it into her mouth.  
         “You’re different here.”  
         Their eyes met and Ellaria didn’t bother asking what Lily meant.  
         “No Templars.” The words were jumbled, Ellaria’s full mouth making speech difficult.  
         Lily looked around, her eyes landing on four within a couple seconds.  
         “Doesn’t count.” Ellaria took another bite. “We aren’t alone, they aren’t close enough to touch me, they aren’t Cullen.” She bounced her spoon in the air as she counted each reason.  
         “He isn’t so bad.” Lily nibbled on her bottom lip before taking another sip of her honey-sweetened tea.  
         Ellaria’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe,” she grumbled and turned the bowl up, emptying the broth into her mouth.  
         Lily continued to sip her tea and watch Ellaria’s eyes grow heavy. The dark haired mage seemed ready to fall asleep now that she had a full stomach, her cheek pushed firmly against the palm of her hand.  
         Several minutes passed by and Lily had gone through the trouble of rifling through her bag to retrieve a book, all the while careful to keep her Dreamer tomes hidden. She’d have to settle for reading _Wonders and the Order of Nature_ instead of investigating how the Fade could alter the waking world for Dreamers. They were simply too dangerous to pull out in the middle of the main hall—with her luck Masters would come by and would use it as an excuse to harass her and this time Cullen wasn’t around to save her.  
         She’d just begun reading about how weather pressure affects casting ability when Ellaria’s mess of black curls moved and her chipper voice broke the peaceful silence, “Why is he staring at you?” Ellaria’s eyes drifted toward Rylen, careful not to point at the Templar as he stood guard during the mage’s lunch hour.  
         Lily took another sip of tea, her mouth obscured from Ellaria’s watchful eye, and shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe he has a thing for blondes.”  
         Ellaria’s nose scrunched and she curled in on herself. Shit. That’s right, she’d heard something like that from one of her bunkmates. Supposedly Ellaria had been kicked out of Ostwick because of a sex scandal with one of the upper crust Templars. Nobody at the Gallows knew the details though.  
         “That can’t be it. Or…I hope…I thought Rylen was one of the good ones.”  
         Lily felt a stab of guilt at Ellaria’s broken words and pained tone. Her bottom lip quivered as she held back tears and Lily’s hardened exterior broke down. “I’m sorry, that was a poor joke,” she said, trying to recover quickly.  
         Ellaria’s posture didn’t change; she still hunched over her empty bowl, fractured and guarded, but her face seemed to brighten a little with a weak smile.  
         “I don’t know why he stares,” Lily lied. “Maybe I look like somebody.”  
         “Hmm, join the club.” Ellaria didn’t seem to need any encouragement to explain when she saw Lily’s confused expression. “Apparently I look like somebody Knight Commander Cullen knows or knew or something. He won’t teach me because of it. Or maybe he just won’t teach me because of me. I don’t really know. Regardless, I’m not getting any better and I’m pretty sure I’ll have to have my Harrowing soon. Might as well make me Tranquil now.” Lily’s confusion grew as she listened to Ellaria. The new mage’s emotions appeared to be all over the place, especially concerning Cullen and her abilities.  
         Lily sighed. “I have a difficult time with my magic, too.”  
         “At least you’re Harrowed,” Ellaria’s wry smile was surprisingly charming; it annoyed Lily that this brash, talkative woman who was probably ten years her senior could show up, effectively ruin her quiet afternoon, and still manage to be charming. Why did everyone insist on talking all the time? Demons never shut up with their artful pleas and devilish plans; mages were nearly as bad, thinking they knew better than the Templars about everything. Lily realized she was glaring at Ellaria and let her long, white-blonde hair fall to curtain her expression.   
         “Explain what’s wrong with your magic.”  
         The two talked for the remainder of the lunch hour. Well, Ellaria talked for the remainder of the hour while Lily drizzled the rest of her honey over her yeast roll and enjoyed the sweetness as she tried her best to listen to the constant stream of information Ellaria provided. Lily perked when Ellaria described how it felt when she cast, when she tried to pull mana from the Fade—she’d said it was like being bowled over with a cold wind from the inside. She could feel the mana welling up inside of her, but anytime she tried to cast a spell the magic would burst forth usually giving rise to an unintended spell.  
         The words spilled from her excitedly only to end abruptly, her face crestfallen. The sudden shift left Lily with a growing sense of unease. She pushed away from the honey dish and teacup, Ellaria commanding her undivided attention. “What is it?”  
         “I grew up with a Dalish clan, did you know that?” Her voice carried an air of equal parts nostalgia and heartache. Ellaria continued when Lily shook her head, “The Lavellans. They raised me. They are more my family than the Trevelyans ever were. I keep their religion, I keep their holidays, I speak their language. We laughed together, we celebrated together…” Her voice broke a little, “And when the time came, we mourned together.”  
         Lily wasn’t sure what to say—but she got the distinct feeling she shouldn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she simply laid her small hand on top of Ellaria’s and did her best to give a genuine smile.  
         “I need to fix my magic. I’m going to get out of here eventually—”  
         Lily admired the tenacity in Ellaria’s statement. Indeed, Ellaria would get out of here. They all would if Lily had anything to say about it.  
         “—and when I do, I can’t be a danger to my family. Not again.”  
         Lily used her idle hand to scratch at her eye, inconspicuously rubbing away a tear that threatened to spill onto her cheek. She was all too familiar with the story of a young mage who’s magic caused a tragedy. Shaedra froze an entire field of crops, Anders set a barn on fire, and Lily…well, she lost her brother. She swallowed the memory down along with the lump in her throat and promised herself she’d do whatever she could to help Ellaria garner control over her magic. The first place she intended to search for answers was her new friend, the Spirit of Wisdom.

:::

         Lily usually didn’t like the Fade, in fact, it was safe to say she dreaded sleeping because of her hatred of the Fade, but this place was beautiful. The Spirit of Wisdom had taken control of her dream, with a sense of grace and ease, and now she found herself standing in a green field at the base of a wide marble staircase. The staircase seemed to lead to large buildings made of more marble, but it was difficult to see from the gulley where they stood. “So this is Arlathan?” The illusory spirit beside her twinkled, a movement she assumed was a nod. “Can they…can they see us? Hear us?”  
         “Only if you wish them to, you are the Dreamer, after all.” An arm of bright light extended before her, ushering her into the great Elvhen city. “It is just a memory, however; Whatever happens here will not change history or what has befallen the Elvhen.”  
         Lily stopped short and looked at her glowing guide. She found it easier to speak to the glowing spirit than to any she’d ever met while awake and found herself aching at the pain in the spirit’s voice. “Are you alright?”  
         “Of course. The past is a construct and nothing more.” The spirit’s voice changed from longing to matter-of-fact, nearly robotic.  
         “Where do you think I’ll find….” Lily stopped as she prepared herself to pronounce the Elvhen names. “Dirthamen and his Exalted paramour Ari—”  
         “Careful,” the spirit interrupted sharply. “Aria’hari was never rightfully Exalted. We must be careful not to offend, even in memory we must tread lightly.” The light flickered and dimmed as it spoke. “To be Exalted—to be raised to the level of the Evanura—was a great honor. Only Ghilan’nain ever achieved true Exaltation. Aria’hari was to be the second, but…” Wisdom paused, a drawn-out silence hung between them as they watched the Elvhen languidly move between palace halls. “But a Great War came and disrupted the Ceremony of Exaltation.”  
         Lily stared at the bright light, unsure of how truthful the Spirit of Wisdom spoke. “I don’t understand.” Her jaw set in a stubborn line as the bright arm extended out before her again.  
         The light shimmered hotly. Lily took a step backward fearful she had angered the spirit, but then the calming voice began to explain. “In the time of Elvhenan’s zenith, all those who dwelled here were blessed with an everlasting life. A decade was but a moment to them in their grand cycle. The Ceremony of Exaltation took years of preparation and another year for the ceremony and celebration itself. Aria’hari was killed in the war before her ceremony officially commenced. Dirthamen was enraged—he swore revenge, another plan that would be spoiled by the outcomes of the Great War.”  
         Lily rocked on her heels and considered the spirit’s words. She thought it odd that she had left a world on the brink of war to visit a memory of another world on the verge of war. Maybe that was all life was: a tension-filled string ready to snap, a roiling geyser on the brink of eruption. As similar as their political landscapes may be, there was no denying Arlathan beat the Free Marches in every other regard. Lily ascended the wide staircase and allowed herself a brief moment of relief when she saw the Spirit of Wisdom followed her.  
         The bright sun reflecting sharply off the marble and Lily had to shield her eyes from the light. She’d reached the top of the stairs long before her eyes could adjust; bare feet appeared on the small swath of marble she managed to see. Someone cleared their throat. She put her arm down, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the twinkling reflection of the marble.  
         “Who might you be?” He was an elf, but taller than any elf she’d ever seen.  
         “Lily.”  
         “Lily, she says.” He scoffed. “Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?”  
         Oh, Maker. She's already offended them. She looked down the staircase and into the gulley where the Spirit of Wisdom had been a moment ago, but the flickering light was gone. “You have my apologies. I do not know who you are, but I am not from this time. I am Somniari and have come to ask for your help.”  
         The elf stared, his grey eyes burning through her until she squirmed. “What?” He asked tersely, annoyed.  
         “Um, a Dreamer.”  
         He laughed, somewhat taken aback. “A Dreamer who isn't of the People?" He cocked his head as he studied her. "The wonders of magic never cease. Welcome, sister.” His face cracked into a wide smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, still cold and unpredictable like a winter storm. “You said you needed help?”  
         A thunderous crack filled the air and echoed throughout the courtyard. Lily had to shield her eyes again.  
         “Wisdom!” She could hear the smile in the elf’s voice. “What’s kept you, dear friend?”  
         “Oh, Fen’Harel, we have much to catch up on.” Lily opened her eyes and was shocked that the shimmering light now had a more Elvhen appearance. The spirit was still merely light, but she could make out it’s pointed ears, unusually tall body, and lithe arms. She was about to ask why it’d hidden it’s true form when she was interrupted, “But let us tend to the Dreamer’s needs first and send her back from where she comes.”  
         The elf with stormy grey eyes nodded.  
         Wisdom spoke again, “The Dreamer is seeking Aria’hari.”  
         “The Dreamer has a name,” Lily muttered bitterly, but only Fen’Harel seemed to notice and his only response was a negligible flick of his ear and a tightening in his jaw.  
         Fen’Harel turned away from Wisdom and Lily, stalking slowly toward the large domed building on the left. Try as she might listen to the hushed chatter between Wisdom and tall elf, Lily couldn’t help but be drawn toward the architecture instead. Dark ivy dotted with white flowers twined their way toward the apex of the building, intricate navy tiles dotted the marble pathways, and even though she couldn’t see it, Lily could hear the rushing of a stream that was so close it had to be winding its way through the city itself.  
         She stopped to admire a statue— hewn from a dark stone, the statue stood at nearly fifteen feet and depicted a Dalish huntress with her bow drawn taut. Lily cocked her head, debating whether to ask Wisdom why the huntress lacked a vallaslin. She ran to catch up with her companions and stuttered to a halt when she realized her elf guide lacked his vallaslin as well. And so did the two women across the mezzanine.  
         “Aria’hari can be found in here,” the elf stood rigidly, his hands stuck resting upon his chest as though he didn’t know where else to put them.  
         “Thank—”  
         The elf disappeared.  
         The young blonde spun until she found Wisdom, a fresh sigh of relief on her lips chased quickly by a questioning look. She didn’t need to voice her concerns.  
         “Everything here is only a figment of what was, it can be altered by interpretation.”  
         “I guess that explains the vallaslin…”  
         Wisdom didn’t answer.  
         “What did you talk about?” Lily’s curiosity got the better of her.  
         “I conversed with him to ease my own nostalgic ache; I was once his confidante, but I haven’t seen him in quite a long time. We can learn from the past, but alas, they cannot learn to avoid what has already finished.” Wisdom’s light grew dim and when Lily’s heart ached for the spirit, a spike of fear and suspicion raced through her as well. It would be greatly conniving—and ever wise—if a spirit were to play the long game, helping her to help a friend, act the broken heart, and wait to be offered a pass into the living world.  
         “That is not me,” Wisdom said infinitely sadder. “But it is good of you to be cautious.”  
         Lily only nodded and entered into the domed building, although _building_ may be a generous term for the dwelling. The arched doorways and windows were grand in size and free of any glass or wood to block the shining light and warm breeze. The room was nearly empty, only two chaise lounges posed opposite each other, a short table with a bowl of fruit between them, and a small pool full of colorful creatures she’d never seen before that ran the length of the room. Lily’s steps echoed on the tile and when she sought the comforting glow of Wisdom, she found she was alone yet again.  
         “Funny thing about spirits,” a lilting voice called from one of the archways, “you never know what you’ll find when they pop up out of the blue announcing ‘Someone is here to see you Miss Aria’.” The elven girl laughed, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders.  
         “Well?”  
         Silence.  
         “Oh, come now. I’m not that scary,” she laughed again. “Speak!”  
         A small zap of electricity nipped at her backside.  
         “Ow!”  
         “Oh, so she is capable of speech.” The elven woman’s smile was disarming, but Lily remained silent as Aria’hari relaxed into one of the chaises and reached for a pear. She bit into it and didn’t seem to mind the extraneous juice running out the corner of her mouth. She wiped at her mouth lazily and threw the rest of the pear into the pool where the unique creatures devoured the remaining fruit, pit and all.  
         “Oh, come now, don’t make me torture you to get it out.” Another zap of electricity, this time to the sensitive fold where her thigh met her hip.  
         “Stop!” Lily screeched and proceeded to pout. “I’ll tell you why I came, just…no more electricity.”  
         Aria’hari’s face fell into her own pout and Lily finally saw the resemblance.  
         “Fine.” Aria’hari showed Lily her palms in a placating gesture and then invited her to sit in the other chaise.  
         Lily made her way around the pool, anxious as to whether she should keep an eye on the ravenous creatures or on Aria’hari. When she finally perched herself on the edge of the lounge, the dark-haired girl beamed and leaned forward, her emerald green dress drooping scandalously.  
         “Do you need me to electrocute an ex-lover?”  
         “I’m fourteen.”  
         “So? By the time I was fourteen I’d had three lovers and a marriage proposal.”  
         “No.”  
         Aria’hari pouted again, her pink lips puckering to the side in thought. “Oh! Do you need me to electrocute your parents?”  
         “No, no electrocution.”  
         “But, that’s what I do. Electricity is my specialty. I don’t mean a friendly little zap, I mean call upon the spirits of the seas and skies until the entire atmosphere is so charged you can taste it. I mean start with a mild shock, so mild it almost feels good.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “But as time goes on, the shock gets stronger and stronger until they’ve been cooked from the inside out.” She cackled, collapsing backward until she was laying across the chaise, her arm dangling over the edge.  
         “Sorry, no. I actually just want you to teach me how you…do what you do.” Lily was starting to think this was a singularly bad idea.  
         “Oh, no. Can’t teach it.” She clicked her tongue. “I can tell by looking at you, you don’t have the electrokinesis…spark.” She bit her lip as if waiting for Lily to laugh.  
         She didn’t.  
         “It’s not for me! My…” Lily trailed off not entirely sure what Ellaria was to her. Were they friends? She was going through a lot of trouble for someone she didn’t really consider a friend. “…friend,” she finally choked out the word, “needs your help controlling her electrokinetic magic. She has a lot of power, but no control. She’s…killed people.”  
         “Oh, good for her. You should’ve brought her, I bet she’s fun.”  
         Lily felt a zap on her lips and Aria’hari grinned devilishly.  
         “She didn’t mean to kill them!” Lily was losing patience. How come everywhere she went, she was the most mature? At home, at the Circle, even in the Fade!  
         “Alright, alright. Don’t worry your pretty little head. What kind of focus is she using?” Aria’hari pillowed her arm under her head and looked dreadfully bored with the conversation, but Lily was thankful she at least seemed to be paying attention now.  
         “Focus?”  
         “Wherever you’re from must do a dreadful job of teaching you how to control your power if you don’t know what a focus is.”  
         Lily hummed in subtle agreement and Aria’hari continued.  
         “Magic is all around us. With so much everywhere, all the time, we must have a way to direct our spells where we want them to go. Close your eyes. Now, now, I’m serious. Close them. Okay, remember the worst storm you’ve ever seen. Imagine a storm ten times its strength. There is lightning everywhere, singing the ground within seconds of the last strike. Now imagine you must cross a field in this weather—you cannot, for you will surely die. But if you had a focus to draw the electricity away from you and toward the point of your choosing, you could safely venture outside. You can open your eyes. Your friend is the storm; if she isn’t using a focus, that is why she can’t control her spells.”  
         Lily glazed over the entire analogy, having gotten stuck on magic being all around. Was the fact that they were in the Fade interfering with the memory of Aria’hari? The specifics of the Somniari Arts still gave Lily a migraine; she’d have to ask Shaedra about it later. Hopefully, this focus would still help Ellaria.  
         “Where can she get one?”  
         Aria’hari zapped Lily on the arm, a much deeper, more intense zap than previously.  
         “Hey! What was that for?”  
         “Don’t ask stupid questions.” Aria’hari propped herself up slightly. It was the only indication she took their conversation seriously. “Anything with magical properties can be used as a focus, but if she has shown a proclivity toward electrokinesis the best focus is a naturally bonded Arlathan’s Heart.”  
         Lily scratched at her cheeks and moaned. This was quickly becoming not worth it.  
         “A naturally bonded Heart is a white-blue crystal found buried in the earth of a Spirit ring—you know what that is, yes?” She asked, her tone thick with mockery. “It’s a ring of mushrooms growing where an Elder tree has died and returned to the ground. Buried within the circle will be Arlathan’s Heart. Your friend must personally dig it up and be the only one to touch it before it is attached to her staff or jewelry. Otherwise, it will not bond to her properly and will be rendered useless.” She eyed Lily sharply. “Do you understand?”  
          Braced for another jolt of electricity someone on her body, Lily gathered her courage and asked, ”What’s Arlathan’s Heart? I don't think we have that...” But no uncomfortable sting came, instead Aria’hari lazily drew a long chain from around her neck, pulling a small blue stone from the depths of her bosom. “Oh! A Veil Quartz.” Her tone stopped just shy of bored, ”Blue stone, buried in a mushroom ring, have Ellaria dig it out. Yep, I got it now.”  
         Aria’hari’s eyes narrowed, but footsteps sounded behind her before she could chastise Lily’s quick tongue.  
         “There you are, my Storm.” Another elf—this time male, broad-shouldered with dark hair and darker eyes—approached them. He extended his hand to Aria’hari and pulled her to him. As she stood, her silken green dress clung to every curve of her thin body.  
         “Dirthamen,” the slender elf purred before she sidled into the man’s arms. Their embrace quickly devolved into a heated kiss, grasping and raw in a way that Lily had never seen before. Dirthamen’s hands threaded through his paramour's long dark hair, their tongues laving hungrily over one another's lips before he moved onto her throat. Lily’s discomfort grew exponentially when Aria’hari’s gaze met hers, her lover suckling ravenously on the tender spot beneath her ear. Aria’hari lips parted to free a moan trapped deep in her throat, her eyes still burrowing into Lily’s.  
         Lily forced herself from the Fade and awoke in her room at the Gallows far from the wicked games of elves.


	12. Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just about halfway there with Part 1, everybody! Thanks so much for your support, kudos, and kind words! I never could've gotten this far without you x) You're all wonderful.
> 
> Here's a little something special from Cullen and don't worry, he'll show up pretty frequently from here on out. <3

          He showed Lily and Shaedra—Maker, that woman was the bane of his existence—to his door. They'd had the gall to suggest taking Ellaria to Sundermount on his next trip to see the Viscount. Some Fade Dreamer nonsense about magic elves and curing Ellaria’s ailment. Preposterous.  
         “I don't think it's come to that,” he shooed them out curtly. “And do be careful with…your lessons.” His shoulders ached with growing tension, but he knew he couldn't forbid Lily from studying, not without reason. But was he too lenient? No one would've suggested to Meredith or even Greagoir at the Circle Tower that they take a mage on a field trip to hunt for some ridiculous trinket. The whole thing made his head hurt. Then again, his head always hurt.  
         He massaged his temples, the brief reprieve from the pain pulling a groan from his chest, as he settled back at his desk. Usually, the large oak table was kept tidy, everything in neat stacks and right angles. But over the last few days he hadn’t been able to keep up with the influx of news from other Circles and the goings-on of his own charge, the Gallows; it left the shiny, dark wood buried under layers of parchment,  Missing Apostate fliers, and not one, but two drying ink spills that mocked his inept attempt to clear the ink away before it settled. He groaned again, a decidedly less pleased sound, when his eyes fell on a particular missive from Val Royeaux.  
          _Acting Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford,_ __  
 _A conclave of the fifteen First Enchanters has been called to address the allegations posed against the Chantry by Grand Enchanter Fiona. A vote of secession will take place on the conclave’s fourth day—after each fraternity has had ample opportunity to share their views. Attendance of Kirkwall’s First Enchanter, Matthias Bramhill, is paramount for an accurate count._ __  
 _I ask that you pray for all of us in this time of trial and strife, dear Knight-Commander. While many are upset at the conditions of the Circles, I am unsure this is the path Andraste intended when she spoke against the dangers of magic. Pray, Ser, pray._ __  
 _In the ever-loving Light of the Maker,_  
                                                                 Justinia V  
         Well, his monthly update to the Viscount on how the Circle was fairing would certainly be lively. He could only imagine how Bran’s face would sour and pucker at the news, making him seem all the more immature and childish. Not that he needed much help, in that regard. A vote of secession? They must be joking. He could almost hear the clashing of the swords and dull thuds of demons and mages alike as they slammed into Templars’ shields the night of the Kirkwall Uprising, The memory brought the taste of bile to the back of his throat, acrid and hot. He did his best to understand how the mages felt—certainly, there were Templars who were less than exemplary—but did that truly require secession? Was there no other solution? If the Circles broke free from Chantry rule, Cullen was certain the riots and rebellions they’d been trying so hard to quash would erupt into a war that would ravage all of southern Thedas. His headache doubled as he considered the larger implications: would Tevinter—or worse, the Qunari—invade while they were squabbling amongst themselves over who should rule the mages? Even if the mages didn't govern themselves, who would keep them safe? Surely even the best among them could still fall prey to temptation if their need was strong enough.  
         A knock on the doorframe interrupted his thoughts and one of the newer recruits stood in the open doorway, hands wringing restlessly, his eyes bouncing around the room landing anywhere except on Cullen.  
         “What is it, Stannis?” He tried not to sound impatient, but he knew he failed. The news from the Divine had shaken him to his core and he wanted nothing more than to have it settled already.  
         “There’s a fight in one of the classrooms, Ser.”  
         Cullen looked up, truly taking in Stannis’ features for the first time. The boy was exceptionally pale, all color drained from his face, quick pants of breath sending quivers through his armor.  
         Cullen dragged his hand through his hair as he stood, gathering his helmet and sword from the armor stand in the corner. “Full report.”  
         The recruit startled at the barked command, but after a swift recovery he hurried to keep up with the Knight-Commander, taking two steps for everyone one of Cullen’s. “Not entirely sure, Ser.” Although Cullen glared at the recruit, he had to hand it to the boy for not withering away under his stare. In fact, the young man pressed on. “Masters and Kenneth were patrolling the east corridor classrooms. I’d just finished talking with them in the main hall when they started toward the corridor.” Impatience flashed in Cullen’s golden eyes and Stannis’ words spilled out of his mouth even faster. “They started down the hall and I didn’t think nothing of it at first, Ser. Nothing weird at all. But then I could feel the magic from where I stood. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I tried to walk toward it, see if they needed help, but it was…I couldn’t…”  
         “What happened, Stannis?”  
         “There was an explosion.”  
         Cullen didn’t wait for any more of Stannis’ report. He broke into a full run down two flights of stairs, rounding the corner into the main hall where mages and Templars alike were gathered at the entrance to the east corridor. Cullen shouldered his way through, making sure to level a reprimanding glare at any Templar who stood gawking instead of trying to help wrangle mages or settle the chaos.  
         As he approached the classroom a pervasive chill crept through the hall, a thick layer of frost settling on the walls and floor as if Cullen were walking through the fields of Honnleath on a Wintersend morning. A great deal of magic was expended here—access to the Fade and expenditure of mana was known to leave a frigidity in the air accompanied by ice crystals and a sickly sweet smell like molten caramel. Cullen swallowed as he squared his shoulders with the door at the epicenter of the mana surge, icicles cracking on the heavy lever.  
         “Ser?”  
         He startled and cursed quietly at the young recruit who stared back at him sheepishly. Had Stannis followed him the whole way? Maker, he had no right to be so shaken. Just because the mana surge occurred in the classroom where Ellaria and Rylen were scheduled to study…  
         “Stannis, I don’t need—”  
         A scream interrupted his reprimand—earsplitting and heartbreaking. Ellaria. There was no doubt in his mind that it was she who was screaming, distressed and alone, seeking help. His feet were moving before he could register much more than the sound of her cries. He burst through the door, convincing the hinges to break free of their frozen encasements with his armored shoulder.  
         “Ellaria?” He called, lost in the fear of the moment.  
         Cullen’s eyes cast about wildly in an attempt to take in as much of the scene before him as quickly as possible. Rylen lay on the floor, conscious, but only just. He seemed to be attempting to stand, only able to get one arm underneath him before collapsing prone again. Ellaria was across the room, where she and Darach Masters were struggling arm in arm, Ellaria halfway to the floor, while Masters towered over her. Both were trapped in a spidery arc of electricity, snapping and sparking every time they touched either of them. Ellaria’s lip had split open, leaving a bright red drop of blood ghosting down her pale chin. Cullen flashed back to her first night in the Gallows, the juice from the apple they shared dribbling down her chin in the same fashion and suddenly a roiling hate for the man who caused her pain bubbled within him. He saw her eyes from her first night, anxious but curious, and he saw her eyes now, feral and panicked. His hand gripped his sword, the ringing slice of it unsheathing cut through their struggling and for the first time, they realized they were no longer alone.  
         Masters stood tall but didn’t let go of Ellaria’s arm. The change in position jerked her upward, pulling another pained groan from her. Cullen did not let himself look at her, for fear of what he would say or do. Instead, he held the sword point to Masters’ neck. “Explain.”  
         “Your second in command is unconscious at the hands of a mage and you are holding me at the end of your weapon?” Masters’ grip tightened and Cullen could see the delicate skin under the lieutenant’s fingers already bruising. He ached to end this conversation and help her, however she would let him. He never should’ve let Rylen teach her. Maker, what happened.  
         “Explain,” he repeated the command, growled out between clenched teeth.  
         “Kenneth and I came to inform her she was to report to the Harrowing Chambers this evening—she reacted poorly. She attacked Rylen, then attempted to attack me. If I hadn’t—”  
         Cullen lowered his sword and held up a hand to stop Masters from continuing. “She wasn’t on this weeks list of Harrowings.” Cullen thought back to the stacks of parchment on his desk and couldn’t think of anything that had her name on it other than Rylen’s daily reports. She’d shown little progress, but she hadn’t gotten worse. She certainly hadn’t shown herself to be an intentional risk—she wouldn’t attack Rylen. Void, Rylen was probably the only Templar in the entire Gallows that Ellaria liked.  
         “Unhand her.”  
         “I don’t think that’s—”  
         “Unhand her.”  
         Masters’ hand dropped slowly, but Cullen didn’t miss the dark look that passed between the two.  
         Cullen kept his gaze steadily on Masters, still not trusting himself. “Where is Kenneth?”  
         Masters shrugged, an insubordinate grunt for an answer. Something in Cullen’s cold features must've changed his mind. “Left. I assumed he went to get you.”  
         “Find him, report to barracks until summoned. Leave,” he said to the lieutenant.  
         The large man sputtered at him. “You can’t be serious. There have to be repercussions! This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this! She was in the gardens with the abomination!”  
         Cullen noticed Ellaria flinch from the corner of his eye.  
         “I will handle any reprimands that need to be made. Leave.” The lieutenant opened his mouth again. “I will not ask again.” Cullen took a step forward, his sword still in hand.  
         “Ser.” Masters’ lips puckered and his nostrils flared. Cullen was certain he would pay for how he handled the situation later, but he knew Ellaria would respond much better to him if Masters was nowhere to be seen. They hadn’t spoken since he…since he tried to teach her. He was probably far from her favorite person—he couldn’t blame her. He needed all the help he could get if he wanted Ellaria to open up to him, to explain what the hell happened.  
         Cullen watched Masters stomp out of the room and slam the door, the electricity dying down with each of his steps.  
         He took a deep breath, steadying himself, said a quick prayer to the Maker and turned around to face Ellaria.  
         Her bloodied lip trembled and she took a step backward.  
         Cullen dropped his sword to the stone floor and the clatter was deafening.  
         “What happened?” His words were soft, barely audible.  
         She shook her head and took another step backward. The light from a spark of lightning reflected off a tear tracking down her cheek. Her knees gave out and she collapsed, her robes buffeting around her like a blanket.  
         Cullen ran his hand through his hair and squatted, struggling to keep balanced on his feet. When he found his center, he also found her pale green eyes watching him. “Please,” he extended his hand out, palm upward. It wasn’t an attempt to touch her, just a placating gesture, a simple way to let her know he meant no harm. “Please explain to me what happened. I want to help.”  
         Ellaria took a deep breath interrupted by a soft hiccup left over from her sobs, but she nodded. “He did come here to tell me about my Harrowing…” She took another long breath, this time also taking the time to scrub at her face. “But he….,” she stopped and stared at Rylen. “I didn’t mean to. He’s my friend.”  
         Cullen looked over his shoulder, nearly losing his balance again. He was pleased to see Stannis had followed him into the classroom and was helping Rylen up and out of the room.  
         “He’ll be okay. I saw he was awake when I came in. You must’ve only stunned him.” He smiled and hoped it was reassuring.  
         “Masters said he knew mages like me—mages who couldn’t control their magic. He said they were good for two things: being made Tranquil and…doing what they’re told.”  
         The implication hung heavy in the air and the rage that had made itself known when Cullen first saw Ellaria’s pain reared its ugly head again. He sprang to his feet and began to pace, curses and slurs spilling from him in angry whispers. When he felt Ellaria’s magic start to hum again he stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her—still crumpled on the floor, exhausted, but terrified. And it was his fault. Again.  
       “I’m sorry—it’s not you.” He wanted to reach out to her, hold her, wipe the blood from her lip, let her know that everything would be okay; but each time he took a step toward her, she shrunk back. “I just…,” he sighed and rubbed at his temples suddenly aware that his head was throbbing again. “I want to make sure Darach Masters can’t hurt you anymore.” He cleared his throat. “Can’t hurt anyone, anymore.”  
         Ellaria canted her head to the side and watched his every move.  
         He knelt in front of her, digging in his pocket. “I will deal with Masters.” His armor rattled loudly as he reached into the depths of his pocket, finally locating what he had been searching for. “I promise.” He smiled warmly and handed her another of his handkerchiefs. When she seemed confused, he wiped slowly at his own lip with the pad of his thumb and tried to quash the yearning feeling in the depths of his stomach, wishing that it had been her lip he’d grazed.  
         An awkward silence filled the air for a moment while she nursed her wound and he knelt in front of her trying to pick his next words. He finally broke the silence, “Shaedra came to see me about you this morning.”  
         Ellaria’s eyes went wide with fear and he could tell she was searching for an excuse, anything to clear her name of the next false accusation.  
         “She thinks she and Lily have discovered a way to help you control your magic.”  
         Shock and confusion enveloped Ellaria’s features, erasing any note of anxiety he’d noticed previously. He marveled at her simplistic beauty as her features continued to catalog an array of emotions—wonder, excitement, skepticism—before she finally gathered enough of her thoughts to speak. “You’re kidding me. No, you can’t be serious.”  
         She laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh that made Cullen want to comfort her even more; instead, he rose from his crouched position and extended an armored hand to her. A gentlemanly gesture to pull her to her feet, to be sure, but also a lackluster apology for how he treated her the last time they found themselves in this very position, in this very room. “No, I wouldn’t joke about something like this. This is my job.”  
         She stared at his hand and the silence dragged on. He ached to rub at his neck and cover the blush he could feel creeping up from under his armor and was about to pull his hand back when she placed her delicate fingers in his palm. He couldn’t help but notice that it was merely for his benefit as he didn’t need to help her up, she clambered up onto her knees and to her feet without using his hand for leverage at all; her fingers held onto his armor for a few seconds, long enough to establish that she was willing to be civil with him, if he were civil with her, then she dropped his hand as if the act of touching him caused her pain. He fought a grimace as he remembered that he had caused her pain only a few short weeks ago. The fact that he hadn’t been able to rid his thoughts of her in that time was unknown to her and a complete mystery to him, as well.  
         “I don’t understand. I’ve been in a Circle for five years and with the Dalish for nearly ten years before that. How come no one has ever mentioned there was a way to help control my magic? How come no one ever told me I could stop?” There were tears streaming down her face.  
         Cullen felt utterly helpless. “My apologies, Ellaria. I barely understood the magic when it was explained to me.” Shame tinted his words, but it seemed to calm her nonetheless. She gazed at him through unspent tears and nodded. “So, what do I need to do?”  
         He smiled, small and shy. A mage, already considered lower class by the majority of Thedas, broken by some tragedy she would likely never reveal to him, yet she refused to give up, refused to admit defeat. But when he opened his mouth he stuttered. He hadn’t considered her reaction to a field trip outside of the Gallows with him. He suddenly felt uncomfortably warm and walked away from her before she could see the wariness on his face.  
         “Cullen—”  
         Her familiarity left a blossoming warmth in his chest and startled him into speaking, the entire plan spilling out of him in fits and bursts. “Lily said you shared some of the difficulties you were having in your sessions with Rylen and before you came to the Circle. She…,” he swallowed, uncomfortable with the entire Dreaming aspect, “found information regarding your predicament in the Fade.” Chancing a look at Ellaria, he found only genuine interest. He continued, “There is a focusing crystal that should help.”  
         “That’s it?” She interrupted, prolonging the dread he felt at revealing how they were to come by this special crystal. “Just, pop a crystal on my staff and all my problems are solved?”  
         “Yes and no. It doesn’t…,” he growled quietly under his breath, not wanting to be the one to explain this, not wanting to be alone with her anymore. Wanting too much to be alone with her. “It doesn’t have to be on your staff. According to Lily’s source, it can be worn as a piece of jewelry or as a focus on your staff. As long as it’s on your person when you’re casting.”  
         Ellaria clapped her hands and ran up to him, stopping just short of grabbing his shoulders as if she suddenly remembered who he was, what he was. “That’s marvelous! It’s even simpler than I thought! We can get one, right?”  
He carded his fingers through his blond curls and cursed when his armored greaves snagged. He didn’t miss Ellaria’s smirk. “We can, but it isn’t something…it’s not something we order from a merchant.”  
         Her smirk vanished.  
         “They apparently only work if the crystals are collected from the wild. And they have to be collected by the mage who intends to use them.”  
         She turned her back on him and gathered her things, stooping low to pick up the staff that had been given to her at the beginning of the lesson. “Oh, well. That’s that, then.” She handed Cullen the staff and started toward the door.  
         The Knight-Commander sputtered as he tried to catch up with her line of reasoning. “Wait! Ellaria, stop.” He didn’t stop himself when he reached out and grazed her arm with the tips of his fingers. Her eyes followed the action, then met his gaze. “I have to go to the mainland to inform the provisional Viscount of everything that has been going on this last month at the Gallows. On my way back from the city, I thought I could…well, I thought we could stop by Sundermount and see if we could find one of the crystals.” He studied her, hoping to read some reaction on her face, but instead he found her completely void of emotion.  
         A knock interrupted their conversation and when Cullen looked away from the empty green eyes staring at him, he found Rylen leaning heavily against the doorframe.  
         “Ser,” his Knight-Captain nodded, obviously still recovering from Ellaria’s attack.  
         Cullen opened his mouth, poised to ask Rylen how he was feeling and whether Masters had been truthful when Ellaria spun to face Rylen, leaving Cullen awash in the scent of oranges as her hair whipped dangerously close to his chest.  
         “Oh, Rylen! Ir abelas! Ea son? Ma’las na son. Oh, ir abelas, Rylen, ir gasha abelas!” Cullen’s head spun as the stream of Elvish continued to pour from her, eventually ending in, “Oh, Creators!” As she flung herself into Rylen’s arms and hugged him hard, squeezing until the Knight-Captain could no longer hold back a pained grunt. She released him and put several paces between herself and both Templars, sheepishly picking at the hem of her robe across her wrist.  
         Cullen eyed the two and pleased that nothing beyond genuine concern was happening between the two, he continued, “Rylen, you went to the healer? Everything checks out okay?”  
         The younger man nodded, but the tense rise and fall of Rylen’s shoulders indicated that he had something important to discuss with Cullen, probably in private.  
         “Ellaria, would you please meet me in my office to discuss the procurement of your crystal? I need to speak with Rylen.”  
         The mage’s focus was split between acknowledging Cullen’s request and assessing Rylen for any lasting damage, but she eventually conceded and left the room. Cullen waited until he was sure she had put enough distance between them to no longer be within earshot. “What is it, Rylen?”  
         “I don’t know who I’m more concerned about, Ellaria or Masters.” Rylen collapsed in a nearby chair, his pallor exaggerated under the chandelier of candles hanging above him.  
         “What do you mean?” Cullen asked softly as he joined him at the table and pulled out a skin of water, offering it to Rylen—readily available fluids seemed to at least bandage the difficulties he’d been having with his lyrium withdrawal, it'd likely help Rylen recover as well.  
         “Ellaria’s difficulties are clear—her magic is uncontrollable and her excessive emotions compound the issue tenfold. Her abilities will need to be addressed.” His brow fell and the corners of his lips pulled down and Cullen knew what Rylen was skirting around. After Ellaria’s show of power, Rylen saw no other option than to have her connection to the Fade severed, Tranquil. But before Cullen could assuage his friend’s fears, his sadness turned to thinly veiled rage as he moved on to discuss Masters. “But Darach has gone too far.”  
         “Rylen—” Cullen began, a gentle warning at the growling tone Rylen had taken on. It was one thing to be enraged at Masters’ antics for the sake of the Circle, but Cullen suspected it may have more to do with Ellaria than anything else.  
         “No, Cullen. He didn’t even Silence her. He came in her, taunting her and threatening her with not only her Harrowing, but Tranquility and a whole host of horrid abuses, and when she was obviously losing control of herself, he didn't bother to dampen her mana. He just continued to needle her. When I realized what was happening I tried to get within range so I could Cleanse the area of the Fade myself, but she was already too worked up. Her static cage exploded and when I came to, he had his hands on her, she was bleeding, and you were here.” Shame colored his features and then he let his head drop into his palms as he braced his elbows against the table. Rylen would live with his perceived failure for the rest of his life—especially if Ellaria ended up Tranquil.  
         “Can you handle Masters for the next day or two?” Cullen’s sudden question pierced the silence of the near-empty classroom.  
Rylen lifted his head from his palms and stared at Cullen, appraising his sincerity. “Ser,” he affirmed with another nod, but his eyebrow quirked in an obvious question.  
         “One of the Senior Enchanters may have discovered a way to help Ellaria. I’ll be taking her with me when I visit Bran and we’ll be going to Sundermount afterward.”  
         Rylen continued to nod, not bothering to ask for any more clarification.  
         “Do you anticipate any problems?” Cullen had his own ideas of how the Gallows would run in his absence—no Harrowings were to take place, but another riot was likely, however, he did trust Rylen to do what needed to be done. Push come to shove, he even expected Shaedra to help keep the peace. He still had his reservations about Matthias, unfortunately.  
         “No, Ser. If Masters or anyone else poses any difficulties in the coming days, I will be sure to handle it as you would.”  
         Cullen smiled encouragingly, but inside he hoped Rylen would do better than he, especially given how often his thoughts had wandered toward Ellaria in the last few weeks. It could mean nothing but trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translation:  
> "I'm sorry! Are you okay? I hope you're okay. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry." 
> 
> Written to the best of my ability using FenxShiral's Elvish Lexicon.


	13. Ellaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally a little solid Ellaria/Cullen interaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...also, I'm sorry.  >.<  
> I love you guys! I promise.  
> Don't hate me.

 

* * *

 

  


* * *

          They hadn't spoken since Cullen had reviewed the rules she was to follow while out of the Gallows. First and foremost: no magic. Secondly—and really, this went without saying—she was to stay with him at all times. He’d been especially grumpy while explaining that rule, although she hardly blamed him. She’d been grumpy enough herself just watching Knight Captain Thrask accost Cullen for the better part of an hour, questioning why he had to take a known flight risk out of the Gallows. Thrask finally gave in, throwing his hands up in frustration, and deferring to Cullen stating the Chantry ‘must’ve named him acting Knight Commander for a reason’ before stalking out of the office.  
          In the interest of not souring Cullen’s mood further, she’d done her best to keep her magic at bay, but she knew he could feel the low buzz that encircled them as they had traveled. It had worsened whenever he’d tried to make conversation, as her anxiety swelled. So instead, she quietly watched as he blushed every time he caught her eye while he rowed them to the mainland, she quietly listened as he explained the situation to the Templars patrolling the docks, and she quietly waited as he explained to a young, petulant redhead why the Circles calling for a vote of secession couldn't be Kirkwall's fault. Her ability to stay quiet shattered as they made their way down the long staircase of the Viscount’s Keep.  
          Cullen’s lips pulled into a pout, his brows low and brooding. “What?” He snapped, having caught her stare.  
          A laugh bubbled up from her belly, full and bright, surprising even herself. His scour deepened. “I'm sorry, Cullen, I am.” But she continued to giggle behind her hand.  
          “Mind sharing what you find so amusing?”  
          She apologized again and managed to reign in her fit. “It's just the Viscount. He's barely older than me! And what a whiny git!” Her sides hurt from holding back laughter. When she saw Cullen’s mouth twitch with poorly hidden mirth, she let her giggles erupt freely.  
          “Not much for authority figures, are you?”  
          Her stomach clenched at the question, the ever-present buzz bearing down and making itself known with sudden aggression, but she tried her best to relax when she saw his crooked smile.  
          She considered telling him about how every authority figure in her life had ever let her down. First, her father standing rigidly at the servants’ entrance as she clung to his thigh, desperate to stay in the place she called home. Then her mother, Neri, stern and hardworking. And, unlike her father, she had been loving. But what Ellaria did to Neri, she couldn’t bear to make that mistake again. And then there was Cade. The epitome of everything she hated. Manipulative, cruel, controlling, possessive. He’d been so sweet and helpful when she first arrived at Ostwick Circle. At the tender age of sixteen, she’d believed every gentle promise whispered into her ear as she passed him in the hall, revelled in the stolen moments that brought fleeting warmth of fingers tracing her neck. But soon gentle promises turned to vicious threats and caressing fingers to violent assaults. When she tried to put a stop to it, he flaunted his power and insinuated he could have her branded for ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar.’ Her time at Ostwick only got worse.  
          Cullen took a step toward her, his arm hanging mid-air like he couldn’t decide if he should comfort her or keep his distance. The movement jolted her from her memories. “Tell me,” she deflected, “What do you think of the illustrious Viscount’s authority?” She smiled broadly, but her voice betrayed her nerves.  
          His hand dropped to his side and he began to stutter. “O-oh, well. Bran is simply a stand-in until someone better comes along,” his voice grew quiet, “same as me.” The vacant look that had infiltrated Cullen’s eyes spoke to more pain than simply the thought of being replaced as Knight Commander, but after a moment Cullen shook his head and flourished his hand toward the sprawling staircase they were approaching. “We need to stop at the tavern before we head to the coast. The First Enchanter asked that I pick up a few bottles of spirit for him at The Hanged Man. It’s just past the market at the base of these steps.”  
          She nodded and they made their way down the twisting concrete slope, the afternoon sun beginning its descent in tandem.  
          Their travel speed decreased significantly once they reached the Lowtown Market. The square was tightly packed as Kirkwall’s lower class citizens meandered from stall to stall, gathering food and supplies for the coming week. Cullen’s fingers ghosted across the small of Ellaria’s back, keeping her close as the crowd stirred around them. As they wound their way through the throngs of shoppers, a Templar approached Cullen and his hand dropped from her back like a dead weight. Ellaria squirmed against the absence of the light touch and listened to the gruff Templar as he spoke to Cullen.  
          “What are you doing away from the Circle at a time like this?”  
          The fear in the older man’s voice sent a wash of goosebumps across her skin. Unnerved, she drifted away from the conversation and found herself entranced by the nearby stall whose table was adorned with trinket boxes and gold chains. Her eyes roamed over each delicate piece—coins stamped with the icon of Andraste, strands of pearls separated by thin golden links of chain, and a beautiful silver rope chain with a simple, round, pale emerald set in a decorative silver bezel. Her finger traced the simple lines etched into the bezel, brushed the smooth surface of the emerald when Cullen appeared at her elbow. “Found something?”  
          She blinked at him, stunned. “Oh, no, it’s nothing.” She could feel her skin warming as he raised his eyebrows, curious. Without another word, she pushed her way through the crowd, not bothering to see if he followed. A few moments later Cullen found her sitting on the steps.  
          “Everything alright?”  
          She nodded quickly, still flustered.  
          “You know…,” Cullen started apprehensively, “This isn’t Ostwick. You can tell me—us, my Templars—things.” She stared at the thick layer of dust that had started to crawl up her leathers and cloak. She heard him try to swallow a sigh. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”  
          The further into Lowtown they traveled the fewer people she saw, the more alone she felt. The gnawing buzz was back. She tried to shake it away when she saw their destination, a tavern denoted by a large metal statue of a man hanging upside down by a noose tied on one ankle.  
          Cullen held the door open for her, but before she could thank him for the gesture, the hot, sticky air of the establishment smacked her in the face and set her to coughing. Heads from all around turned to stare at her, one by one they all laughed and a catcall cut through the din. The jeers died in the drunks’ mouths when Cullen stepped through the door, his hand finding its way to her shoulder—not firm or domineering, but a confident touch making only enough contact to let everyone know she was under the Knight Commander’s protection. She tried her best not to flinch at the gentle pressure, but his quickly averted eyes alerted her he noticed. Once the bar had resumed its usual bray of laughter and sob stories told much too loud, Cullen let his hand fall away.  
          “Damn layabouts, got nothing better to do than sit in this dump drinking on a midweek afternoon,” Cullen muttered darkly, his hands clenching and releasing repeatedly at his sides.  
          “Do we have nothing better to do than sit in this dump on a midweek afternoon?” Ellaria said as she pulled herself onto a bar stool. Her already-weak smile faltering as she wiped a mysterious goo off her hands and onto her traveling cloak. “I’m sure there are cleaner places to pick up whatever it was the First Enchanter needs.”  
          A sardonic smile flickered on his lips. She made doubly sure her hands were clean, wiping at them furiously, as the nervous buzz of her magic warred with an unfamiliar flipping in her stomach. “Matthias doesn’t need this, but he claims it’s the only spirit in all of Thedas that can help him get to sleep after,” his warbled briefly, “after a Harrowing.” His brows pulled together in a frown and he wouldn’t meet her gaze.  
          Ellaria opened her mouth to assure Cullen she was very aware of the intricacies his job entailed and he needn’t hide them when a short blond man with a dirty T-shirt that didn’t quite cover his belly came to the bar. “What can I get for ya?” He looked to Cullen as if Ellaria didn’t exist.  
          Cullen sighed, his index finger scratching his brow, “Three bottles of Antivan Sip-Sip, please.”  
Ellaria’s hand flew to her mouth, but an ugly snort of giggles escaped anyway. The bartender nodded to Cullen and then deigned to look at her as he left, clearly distrustful, and mumbled a nasty curse about maleficar under his breath. Ellaria wouldn’t have paid it any mind if Cullen hadn’t tensed beside her.  
          “I’m used to it,” she brushed off.  
          “You shouldn’t have to be.”  
          Her stomach gave another curious twist at the sincerity in his voice and the sadness she saw painted across his features.  
          “Cullen—”  
          But the bartender was back and shoving a canvas tote with three dusty, dark blue bottles at Cullen. She worried he was going to make a scene, but instead he stared at the bartender for an inordinate amount of time and then dug out a few gold coins and tossed them on the counter.  
          “Come on, Ellaria.”  
          She hurried after him, tripping slightly over the hem of her cloak. Cullen turned toward her as he walked, his hand outstretched to catch her should she fall. As he walked backward, concern etched deeply into his features despite Ellaria assurances she was okay, he slammed into a bar patron near the door, the liquor bottles clattering and rolling under a table.  
          “Apologies, my good ma—” Cullen’s mouth hung open as he watched the dwarf in front of him flit about and gather all of Cullen’s dropped effects.  
          “Curly!” The dwarf finally greeted, handing the once-again full bag of liquor and other supplies to the dumbfounded Knight Commander. “How have you been? Circle life treating you well?” Joy sparkled in his steel blue eyes as he gazed around Cullen’s bulk and found Ellaria watching him. He winked at her.  
          “Varric.” Cullen stood rigidly, his limbs held at the same awkward angles they’d been when he first recognized the dwarf. “I thought you’d fled Kirkwall.” The words dripped with an accusation. Ellaria’s brow crinkled in confusion, unaware of what had happened between the two men. “Am I to assume Hawke is here with you?”  
          The Champion.  
          A small gasp passed through her lips and Varric laughed, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “How stupid do you think she is, Curly?”  
Cullen’s eyes narrowed to angry slits at the nickname. “I suspect you’re keeping out of trouble?”  
          He sidestepped the question and thrust his hand out to Ellaria. “Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and apparently a rather unwelcome dwarf.” He rolled his eyes toward Cullen.  
Ellaria bit her lip to stifle another laugh as she shook the dwarf’s warm hand. Ellaria had met few people in her life whom she had an instant affinity for—Elion Lavellan, Anders, and now this dwarf, Varric. His jovial spirit and playful demeanor calmed her. “So, Varric,” her lips quirked in amusement, “How well do you know the Knight Commander?”  
          “We should get going.” Cullen’s brusque tone betrayed his discomfort.  
          Ellaria brushed her curls behind her ear, hiding a private eye roll between her and Varric. He grinned at her; Cullen shifted his weight, confused and restless. Not willing to push her luck any further, she nodded goodbye to Varric and followed Cullen to the door, nearly tumbling into his armored back when he abruptly stopped. He turned and the waves of tension rolling off him sent a shock of dread throughout her body. She retreated until she felt the tacky wood of the Hanged Man’s walls against her back.  
          “Where are they, Tethras?”  
          Varric showed his palms in a placating gesture and a throaty chuckle burbled from him. But when Cullen stepped into his space, Varric’s resolve crumbled. “Alright, alright!” He continued to laugh. “Here,” he tossed a ring of keys of Cullen who caught them with a clatter against his chest plate. “You can’t blame a dwarf for trying.”  
          Cullen grunted a menial reply.  
          “Take care of Blondie for us, huh?”  
          “Us?” Cullen asked, alarmed.  
          Varric winked and disappeared into a throng of bar patrons near the back of the establishment.  
          Cullen growled, his fingers clenched around the ring of keys. “Come on, it’s getting late. We need to make camp before dusk. Sundermount isn’t always the safest place to be after dark.”  
          They exited Lowtown and Kirkwall proper in silence, Cullen stewing under a private raincloud, so Ellaria focused on the changing landscape around them. The stone walls and dirt-packed ground of Lowtown gave way to open fields, a crisp breeze rippling across the gently sloping hills. Sundermount—the tallest mountain in the entire Vimmark mountain range—cast a small shadow on the horizon. Ellaria sighed softly before she girded her cloak and pack in preparation for a long evening of travel.  
          Little by little Cullen’s shoulders eased further away from his ears, his fists unclenching, but still they didn’t speak. Only the sounds of her feet scuffling on the path and Cullen’s armor scraping at the hinges were heard as the sun set and the breeze changed from crisp to biting. It had been warm the last time she’d been outside for any length of time—wet and abysmal, but warm. Now she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and tried her best not to think of conjuring a small flame to keep her warm. Creators, with her luck she’d set something on fire.  
          “You’re cold.”  
          Ellaria startled at Cullen’s sudden timbre, but managed to keep her voice steady. “I can manage.”  
          Cullen slowed to a stop and peered down at her, his expression soft in the twilight. “There’s an inn just over this hill. It’s where we’ll stop for dinner and, with any luck, they’ll have a room and we won’t have to camp.” Even in the dim light Ellaria could see the flush of color in his cheeks. “I’ll take the floor.”  
          By the time they reached the inn, both their cheeks were bright red with cold and she’d never been more thankful for a rundown shack smelling faintly of mildew. “Inn is a little generous, wouldn’t you say?” She said with a good-natured snort.  
          “Serves in a pinch.” Cullen flagged down the barmaid as they took their seat at one of two empty tables, the other two tables crowded with an array of scruffy travelers whose eyes followed them across the room. “So…”  
          Ellaria looked at him, expectantly. When she realized he hadn’t planned what to say, relief flooded through her tired muscles. The bar maiden approached them carrying a large flagon of water and a basket of hard-crusted bread.  
          “What can I get for you, darlin’?” The barmaid sat down on the arm of Cullen’s chair and draped across his shoulders.  
          Ellaria bit down on her lower lip and stared at the table. She heard Cullen order two servings of druffalo stew followed by the barmaid’s unintelligible whisper and throaty chuckle. Ellaria didn’t lift her eyes until she was certain the woman had left. She cleared her throat and continued to avoid Cullen’s piercing gaze. Instead, she watched the table of five men next to them as they huddled around a game of Wicked Grace.  
          “Ellaria, I—”  
          Hearing his lips form her name was enough to pull her attention back to him, regardless of how much she wanted otherwise. She watched as the barely noticeable wrinkles moved around his face as he carefully debated his words. The barmaid was back before he could settle on anything, lazily laying the stew on the table before leaning down to Cullen’s ear again with more whispers. An uncomfortable heat settled in Ellaria’s chest as she realized the barmaid was tracing his other ear with her finger. Ellaria quickly focused all of her attention on the stew and tried her best to ignore the movement across the table.  
          The whispers grew more frantic and stern until, eventually, she heard Cullen dismiss the barmaid at full volume.  
          “Spoilsport,” the woman pouted as she sauntered away, swaying her hips and winking at him as she passed Ellaria.  
          “My apologies, Ellaria. She was—that was—”  
          Ellaria ignored him, still staring at the amorphous brown chunks floating in the stew’s gravy, her vision slightly blurred. When she trusted herself to act and speak naturally, she reached across the table to pick out a piece of bread. She found Cullen’s warm hand there instead. Both pulled back as though they’d been bitten by a snake.  
          “Sorry, I—”  
          “Maker’s breath, I—”  
          They stopped and stared at each other, then matching smiles broke across their faces.  
          “I hope you like druffalo...we can order something else if you don’t. Although, I’d rather we didn’t call her back over here.” He gave a shaken laugh.  
          Conversation felt easy after that, Cullen asking simple questions pertaining only to her stay at the Gallows, while she prodded further.  
          “Anders seems to know you pretty well,” she ventured with a quick assessment of his reaction. His eyes grew large in surprise at the topic change, but he didn’t seem offended by her statement.  
          “Yes, we know each other from the Circle Tower in Ferelden. I’m still not quite sure how we both ended up here, but I’m glad he’s here now. I only wish we could’ve helped him before…Well, you know.”  
          “Help him? Is that what you consider the Circles to be doing?” The words leapt out of her mouth as if of their own accord, but she was floored when Cullen smiled broadly at her.  
          “I do. I don’t pretend to think the Circle is perfect. I know several of my men need to be sent back to the Chantry for…retraining. But the streets aren’t safe for mages right now; I honestly believe you’re safer in the Gallows than in the streets of Kirkwall. Especially after the rebellion. I don’t know what I’d do if somebody—if any of the Gallows’ mages were harmed because of my negligence.”  
          A smile flickered across Ellaria’s lips despite herself. “I suppose it was bound to happen one day.”  
          “What was?” The wrinkle in his forehead deepened with a confused frown.  
          “A genuinely good Templar.”  
          The apple of his throat bobbed heavily, but he continued, “I thought you liked Rylen?”  
          “I do like Rylen,” she laughed, “but I’m not sure if Rylen is good because he’s genuinely good or because he’s still too young and inexperienced of a Templar to know what he’s doing.”  
          “He’s older than you are,” Cullen said, pointing his fork at her, a chunk of druffalo meat speared on the end.  
          “Only by a year!” The laugh died in her throat when she saw Cullen’s drawn and worried expression. “Cullen?”  
          His voice dropped until it was barely audible, “We need to go.”  
          “I thought—”  
          “Ellaria…” He didn’t look at her as he said her name; instead, he was looking past her to a table of men who had been playing Wicked Grace earlier.  
          She nodded. He quickly placed several coins on their table, grabbed both their packs, and headed toward the door. No one made a move toward them, although as Ellaria reached for the tavern’s door handle she was suddenly very thankful to have Cullen at her back. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of Jolly’s Tavern.  
          “Who were they?” She asked him once they stepped into the bitter darkness, lit only by a stretch of stars and quarter-moon.  
          “I’m not sure. Mercenaries, probably. Their game had stopped a while back and they seemed awfully interested in our conversation. I thought it best if we didn’t stay to find out how interested they were. I’m sorry, I know this means we’ll be much colder tonight than we would’ve been inside…”  
          “It’s okay. Cold and alive is better than what we could’ve been.”  
          Cullen surprised her with a hearty laugh. “Very true, Ellaria. Very true.”  
          They’d only been walking a couple minutes when Cullen stopped in his tracks, Ellaria stumbled to a stop beside him, nearly losing her footing. Cullen’s hands quickly found her waist and shoulders in the dark and kept her from falling to the dirt, but when she looked up to thank him, his eyes were gazing at a dark clump of bushes.  
          “Did you hear that?”  
          Ellaria listened.  
          “N—”  
          A twig snapped.  
          Cullen and Ellaria stood back to back. His sword hissed against its sheath, her pack thudded to the ground as she released her staff.  
          The bushes rustled and the five men from the tavern emerged. “So much for sneaking up on them, eh, boss?” A short rogue with two daggers sneered with a dirty chuckle.  
          The skinniest of the five turned to look at the rogue, he motioned something to his gang mate in the dark that Ellaria couldn’t decipher; but Ellaria knew one thing…the leader didn’t have a weapon and that could only mean he was a mage.  
          Ellaria looked at Cullen, concerned. He had to know this was a mage; if he was a blood mage they could easily be outmatched. Cullen didn’t meet her gaze, didn’t tip her off either way, instead he spoke to the gang leader saying, “We mean no harm. We’re making our way through the Vimmark Pass and then we’ll be on our way.”  
          “Templars don’t usually come out this way,” the leader said, quiet and husky.  
          “Important Circle business, but we’ve no plans nor interest in hunting apostates. We simply need to get to Sundermount.”  
          So he did know the leader was a mage…that’s something.  
          The air sharpened, the acrid taste of ozone filled Ellaria’s mouth. Unbidden, she’d called on the Fade, bringing purple arcs of electricity skittering across her body and into the night sky, casting eerie shadows on the five men who were now circling her and Cullen. “I take it the number one rule no longer applies?” She prodded Cullen facetiously under her breath. He scoffed in return, then lunged, starting the fray.  
          Sound erupted in the Vimmark Pass, clashing of knives and swords, sparks of lightning and flashes of fire. Ellaria’s vision came and went in turns with the spells she cast, illuminating what lay in front of her. The darkness played both ally and enemy as she fought. She tried desperately to maintain a barrier, but with every new spell the barrier petered out. She was forced to weave and dive around the attacks of the two men who rushed her. She managed only one decent static cage before they set upon her again.  
          Growling in frustration, she disregarded her magic and ducked low, rolling to the side of the smaller opponent brandishing a Dirk. With a sickening snap, she kicked his knee out from under him. Blood began to pool under the broken limb. He snarled at her as she yanked the short sword from his hand. “Thanks,” she huffed but was stunned to see him smile. She whirled around, a large fist striking her ribs, and another blade came down as if in slow motion. Her breath was gone. Blood poured down her left cheek and oh, how it burned. She stumbled backward over the fallen gang member. Light and darkness mixed before her, a high pitched whine accompanying the shifting stars. All clashing of metal had stopped—she tried to turn her head, find Cullen, but her body wouldn’t obey.  
          “You’s a little broken now, but I bet there are parts of you that still work,” he whispered threateningly.  
He called something out to the other gang member left standing—the mage, Ellaria could feel his magic. But she didn’t hear what he said, all she could see was Cade standing over her, Masters standing over Lily. A surge of righteous anger and adrenaline flooded her. She pulled herself to standing and scrubbed the blood out of her eye, wincing. “No.”  
          “Oh, a real fighter!” He advanced on her, his dagger gleaming in the sunlight.  
          Sunlight?  
          Ellaria shielded her one good eye as she looked toward Cullen and the mage, blinded by the sudden light. As the light died down, Ellaria saw three bodies lying at Cullen’s feet and the two gang members that were left were stumbling as though still blinded. She watched, mesmerized, as Cullen staggered forward, slid his sword into the gut of the mage, turned toward her, and sliced her own assailant across the throat.  
          Their eyes met—his usually warm, golden eyes so full of life were dark, glazed hollow and distant. She’d never seen this expression on him before. Defeat.  
          Then he collapsed.


	14. Rylen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH! My dear readers! I am so sorry! I have good news and bad news...  
> Bad news...we aren't rejoining Ellaria and Cullen just yet. I KNOW! I'm sorry! T.T  
> Good news...Their chapter is almost finished. I started it before I wrote this one.  
> I hope you'll forgive me and that this chapter helps! :)

          He was pleased; four hours into Cullen’s absence and the Gallows was calm and quiet, a placid lake where the water was smooth as glass. But every lake had ripples, one only had to know where to look. Rylen’s gaze passed over the shoulder of the Templar Knight giving him a brief report of the shift change and found Masters glowering at him from the dimly lit doorway to the barracks. The dare was evident in the quirked corner of Masters’ lip—Cullen had sentenced Masters to the barracks until his return and, technically, Masters wasn’t following orders. But nor was he breaking them.  
          The pride he’d been reveling in a moment earlier drained out of him the longer he kept his gaze on Masters. With a wink, Masters turned and left toward the barracks, leaving Rylen with nothing but a cold and ominous dread in his chest.  
          “—First Enchanter leaves,” the Templar Knight finished saying.  
          Rylen blinked rapidly and focused on the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, Stannis. What were you saying? The First Enchanter is leaving? When?”  
          Stannis turned to see what had captured Rylen’s attention so fully; Masters’ towering frame could still be seen retreating down the dark corridor. A heavy crease marred his forehead when he faced Rylen again. His mouth hung open before he remembered the question he’d been asked. “Tomorrow, Ser. The Knight Commander said the First Enchanter had been called away by the Most Holy to convene immediately in Orlais.” Stannis teetered in his boots nervously, eventually taking a bracing gulp of air and saying, “He’s a bad egg, that one.”  
          It took Rylen a minute to realize he was talking about Masters and not the First Enchanter. “He is at that,” he said, his eyes flitting toward the now empty hall. “It’s just a shame we can’t lock him in his room until Cullen gets back.” He sniffed, a half laugh, half scoff. “I guess I’ll be in the First Enchanter’s office for the next while if you need me. Good work today, Stannis.”  
          The halls were quiet as he made his way up three flights of stairs and across the Senior Enchanter’s dormitory floor to the First Enchanter’s office. He’d expected to see at least a few mages studying for their Harrowing or for their elevation to the next mage classification, but he’d only seen two Templars doing rounds as he ascended the second flight of stairs.  
          When he arrived at Matthias’ door it was shut and there were voices arguing behind it again. He couldn’t help but remember his last visit to this office, trapped on his back, surrounded by unfamiliar mages, and then they’d used his sister’s death…His shoulders tightened uncomfortably under his armor and the ache in his jaw told him he was grinding his teeth again. He wouldn’t give them the chance this time. No, this time Rylen wrapped his fingers around the door handle and pushed into the room without bothering to knock.  
          Matthias stood facing the door, his hands splayed on his desk as he leaned heavily into it, his auburn hair dangling in thick, oily ropes. Two mages stood with their backs to Rylen, deeply entrenched in their argument.  
          “You can’t be serious!” The blond man said as he ran his fingers through his hair, practically pulling to the point of pain.  
          The older woman spoke at the same time, “Matthias, this isn’t the time to go gallivanting off. Everything has been put into place. If we change something now, who knows what could happen. We couldn’t have asked for a better time than what has been awarded to us right now. We can’t throw that away.”  
          “Shaedra,” Rylen winced against the grate of the First Enchanter’s tone, “you don’t have to worry about our circumstances. Cullen isn’t going to come b—” he looked up and spotted the Templar framed in the doorway. His lips curled into an unfriendly smile. “Knight Captain. What can I do for you?”  
          “This isn’t over, Matthias.” The blond turned and the startling blue of the mage’s eyes struck Rylen as both haunting and familiar, but he let the man pass, Shaedra quietly on his heels. Matthias continued as though they hadn’t been interrupted at all, “I imagine you’re here to discuss my absence as well. It seems the Divine’s request has unsettled several people here in the Gallows.” He gathered his grimoire, a stack of vellum, and a collection of quills from his desk, placing them gingerly in his satchel, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Imagine, I leave for three days, and the Circle doesn’t think they’ll be able to function.” He clucked his tongue and turned toward his window to continue packing.  
          “Actually,” Rylen said, curt, “You summoned me. I have complete faith in the Templars to keep order. If we should need any mage assistance, Shaedra has proved invaluable in the past.”  
          The First Enchanter’s laugh was boisterous and ugly.  
          Rylen stared, waiting for Matthias to collect himself, glowering all the while.  
          “Shaedra is indeed an invaluable asset. You should make as much use of her as you can while she’s here.” He continued before Rylen could even process what he’d said. “I’ll only be gone for three days if all goes well. As you deduced, Shaedra has taken over my duties until my return. I don’t think you’ll have any difficulties out of her.” His voiced faded away and he gazed out the window, no longer bothering to pack. Rylen had just started toward the door assuming he’d been silently dismissed when Matthias spoke again. “Have you been following Masters as I instructed?”  
          Rylen’s jaw worked. He had never considered himself one of the Templars that thought less of the mages. Templar or mage, they were all people. It was simply luck of the draw. It was all dirty, rotten luck that gave him one of the most respected jobs in Thedas and left his baby sister on the losing side in the battle for her life. But Matthias…did he hate Matthias? Did he hate anyone? It wasn’t because he was a mage, he knew that. But the scroungy, little man just—  
          “Knight Captain?”  
          Rylen growled. “I’ve noticed him, yes; but I haven’t followed him.”  
          “Ahh. And what have you noticed?” Matthias’ had turned toward him, stroking his patchy beard, and staring hard at Rylen.  
          Rylen shifted and carded his fingers through his dark, sandy hair. “What have I noticed?”  
          Matthias groaned and threw himself into his desk chair. He leaned heavily on his forearms and took two steadying breaths before looking at Rylen again. “Yes, what have you noticed? Does he have certain patterns? Favor any of my mages? Dislike any of my mages? Treat any of them special in any way, for good or ill?”  
          Rylen’s mouth felt like that one summer his parents had taken him and Lenora to the Nevarran Coast on vacation when Lenora was just 3 or 4—hot, rough, dry like no water had touched it for months. “Uh…”  
          “Maker, Captain, it’s not a difficult question.”  
          His teeth ached from grinding, but he had a nagging feeling he wouldn’t get out of that office until he answered the question.  
          “Why do you want to know?”  
          “We talked about this when I asked you to keep an eye on the Lieutenant.” The veins in his sallow skin were popping and the hand that was now resting on his desk was gripping the wood as though it were a lifeline.  
          “I know, I just—”  
          Matthias patience snapped and he slammed the palm of his hand onto his desk, rattling his potion bottles and inkwells. “Knight Captain, I have been in the Circle since I was five years old. I may not look very old, but I assure you, that has been quite some many years. I have seen my fair share of Masters. I simply want to make sure that all of my mages are kept safe. If he has started to show favor toward one or two mages, in particular, I should like to know, so that I may stop the problem before it starts.”  
          Rylen nodded. “He’s caused a few scenes with Lily, the young Dreamer. I don’t think anything has happened, but—”  
          “That’ll be all, Knight Captain, thank you.”  
          “But—”  
          “Thank you.”  
          Matthias’ spiel about keeping his mages safe pulled at an all too familiar thread deep in Rylen and he found himself gravitating toward the Harrowing Chamber. It would be empty, of course, without Cullen here to oversee the procedure; but it was the last place he’d been with Lenora and was always where he felt closest to her.  
He was surprised to find the lanterns in the Harrowing corridor already lit as he approached, but before he could consider it too deeply he heard muffled sounds and arguing from within the Chamber. He approached slowly, careful to ease the door open without making a sound.  
          The inner Chamber was shrouded in shadows too thick to make out. An indiscernible shuffling could be heard in the blackness, each slow scrape raising Rylen’s heart until it was hammering uncomfortably against the thin skin of his throat. His sweaty hand gripped the sword at his hip, ready to lunge into the room swinging. A heavy thud and a strangled cry shattered his half-formed plan. His hand dropped from the sword as he flung the door wide casting a haunting glow into the Chamber.  
          Rylen’s jaw snapped shut, his teeth ground down to the point of pain. The only sound a high pitched whine deep in his ear and the intense pressure and heat of blood rushing to his face. His hands were on her neck, her tiny, fragile neck. Dark red marks already marred where Masters gripped her. He squeezed and Lily yelped again. He lifted her higher, her back against the wall, her feet scrambling for traction. Rylen’s stomach turned at the now familiar shuffling sound.  
          He was across the room driving his shoulder into Master’s side. With all his rage, he’d expected Masters to end up halfway across the room, dazed and unconscious the floor, but Masters barely moved when Rylen slammed into him. His fingers slipped from Lily’s neck and he turned his attention to Rylen.  
          Rylen looked around the dim Chamber as if expecting someone to appear, ready to lend assistance. He was alone other than Lily, who laid on the floor at his feet, her small rasping breaths interrupted by fits of coughing. As he turned away from the door and back to Masters, the hulking man’s fist met with his jaw. White light flooded his vision, followed by red and blue bursts of color. The taste of metal and warm liquid flooded his mouth. Then he felt it. The crushing pain bloomed from the crux of his jaw and radiated down his neck. He staggered to keep his feet beneath him and fought to keep air in his lungs, pain dragging down his neck and throat with every breath.  
          “Regretting your decision, little man?” The lieutenant said.  
          Rylen didn’t need to open his eyes to see the smug look on Masters’ face.  
          He blinked a few more times, the ringing in his ears dying down, and the flashing lights slowly receding to the edges of his vision. By the time he met Masters’ eyes, the burly Templar was laughing. Loathe though he was to admit, Masters wasn’t wrong. The man stood a few feet from him, his corded muscles tight, the vein on the side of his forehead pounding. He was at least a head taller than Rylen, easily outweighing him by a hundred pounds. Another punch like that and he’d go down.  
          “You don’t need to do this, you know. It’s just us. No one would know.” Masters’ eyebrow quirked, a smile tugging at the scruff on his chin, and Rylen was flooded with a mingled sense of embarrassment and dread; Masters’ had noticed his reticence to confront him directly, now that Lily was no longer in danger.  
          Rylen looked at his feet, “I ca—I can’t let you hurt her.” His voice only cracked once.  
          Masters laughed. “I wasn’t hurtin’ her. I was asking her for a favor!”  
          Rylen saw red again and despite the growing ache on the side of his face, he couldn’t hold his tongue. “She owes you no favors! She isn’t your puppet that you can call on whenever you’re feeling—” he stopped himself and finally met Masters’ amused grin. “There’s a lady present, but you know very well what you were feeling.” His finger thrust out with every pointed syllable.  
          “Shows what you know, Captain,” sarcasm dripped from the title, “I wasn’t propositioning the Robe.” His smirk grew nasty. “Not this time, anyways. I jus’ wanted her to do a little bit of spying. She’s got a right nice trick, you know. That’s why the Commander and his pet left—because of her trick. I thought she’d be able to tell me some things about some of the other mages.”  
          Rylen struggled to follow the conversation. The pain in his head hadn’t abated and what he could glean from Masters’ words made no sense—Ellaria wasn’t Cullen’s pet. She hated him. And Lily a spy?  
          “Let me know when you decide one way or the other, little man.” Masters clucked his tongue and sauntered out of the Chamber, his Templar robe buffeting behind him as he went.  
          Rylen stared at the empty doorway until he heard Lily pull herself against the wall with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Ser Rylen,” she said. She hid her face in her hands, hair obscuring her face.  
          He hummed at her, half lost in thought. Her elfin build and straight blond hair that fell nearly to her waist hurled memories of Lenora at him, memories he couldn’t easily shake.  
          “…Is your face okay? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”  
          “No,” he cut her off sharply. “You have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong. Whatever he wanted to ask you, even if it was sanctioned by the Chantry—which I’m fairly certain it was not—he had no right to lay hands on you. I’m only sorry I could not get here sooner.” He held his hands out to help her stand. “We should both go see the healer.”  
          The walk to the healer was slow; neither Rylen nor Lily was able to breathe without experiencing pain. Talking for any extended length of time was a struggle, but Rylen’s mind was still reeling with unanswered questions. He held a door open for her and ventured, “Why were you even near the Harrowing Chambers?”  
          Lily’s milky face reddened to match the darkening bruises on her neck. “I…You’ll think I’m crazy.”  
          “Try me,” he said with a wistful smile.  
          She took a slow, deep breath with a slight grimace. “I thought I saw a dwarf.”  
          “Wait—wait—”  
          “Yep,” she said, nodding and laughing quietly, “A dwarf, just wandering the halls like he was lost.”  
          “I take it you never found the dwarf?”  
          Lily shot him a dirty look as his answer.  
          “Alright! Alright!” He laughed with his hands held up in a placating gesture. “Well, what about Masters, then? Why was he there? Had he followed you? Who did he want you to spy on? Or was he lying to me?”  
          “You sure those are your only questions?” Lily asked, dryly.  
          “Did he really want you to spy on someone?”  
          She nodded. “On the First Enchanter.”  
          “What? Why?” Rylen’s voice rose and echoed off the walls, causing an intense throb in his head.  
          Lily shrugged. “Thinks he’s a blood mage, I guess.”  
          “A blood mage?!” Rylen fought to keep his voice down as they entered into the main hall. “What would have given him that idea?”  
          But before Lily could answer, Stannis appeared in front of them, out of breath, sweating, and grinning from ear to ear. Rylen looked at him uneasily.  
          “Masters won’t be a problem no more, Captain Rylen,” Stannis saluted him, still grinning so broadly it looked like it hurt.  
          “Uhh…” Rylen ran both hands through his hair and turned back to Lily. “Go straight to the healer, then report to Shaedra. Stay close to her until Cul—err—the Knight Commander is back.” He smiled reassuringly at her and swept his arm toward the healer’s quarters. When she was out of earshot, Rylen turned back to Stannis. “What?” He said through grated teeth.  
          “You said you wished we could lock him in his room—”  
          Rylen’s heart sank. Oh, no. He didn’t.  
          “We’re roommates, see? He came in a few minutes ago, huffing and puffing about blood mages, and dirty robes, and…not very brave Templars.”  
          “He didn’t say ‘not very brave,’ did he, Stannis?”  
          “No, Ser.” The young boy blushed. Rylen could only imagine the expletive the older Templar had used. “Anyway…he was stark raving mad. I couldn’t let him leave in that state. He’d have done somethin’ terrible. So I just…jammed the door. I stood outside the door for a few minutes before I came to find out, make sure he couldn’t get out. He’s been fighting with it for a while. It’s stuck real good.”  
          “Oh, Maker help us, Stannis.” Rylen rested his chin in his palm which sent a new explosion of pain through his jaw and head. When he stopped seeing stars, he said, “Okay…well…I guess we’ll leave him there until Cullen is back. If we let him out now, he’ll only make things worse.” Rylen turned on his heel and started down the same hall as Lily, toward the healer.  
          “Oh, but Ser!” Stannis was suddenly at his elbow. “See…we’re roommates. And now I don’t know where to stay when my shift ends.”  
          Rylen closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. When he opened them, Stannis was staring up at him like a puppy waiting for a reward. “You’ll stay in my quarters until the Cullen’s return.” Rylen started toward the healer again, assuming their conversation was concluded.  
          He was wrong.  
          Stannis was trotting alongside him, “Oh, fun! It’ll be like a sleepover! Masters was the worst roommate! I never really had sleepovers growing up, I—”  
          “Stannis!” The boy stopped short and Rylen continued. “You’ll have my room to yourself. I’ll be staying in Cullen’s quarters.” Upon seeing the crestfallen look on Stannis’ face, Rylen amended, “Our quarters only have one bed. There are no bunks for two to a room.”  
          “Right!” Stannis nodded emphatically. “Say no more. Okay! Rounds! Thank you, Ser! I won’t let you down, Ser!”  
          A few hours later Rylen stood at Cullen’s door and shuffled through the key ring Cullen had left him. After a few tries, he finally found one that turned in the lock with a satisfying thunk. The room was immaculate—the bed was perfectly made with the sheepskin blankets tucked tightly under the mattress; the desk was nearly empty save a stack of plain parchment, a quill and ink pot, and three candles, all of which were arranged at right angles. Contrary to the rest of the perfectly arranged room was a partially open drawer. Rylen turned his back on the askew piece of furniture and began to strip out of his armor, making use of Cullen’s empty armor stand. But every time he turned to don a new piece on the stand, the drawer caught his eye.  
          He laid his lantern next to the unlit candles and looked around the room for Cullen’s spills. Frustrated, he figured if he were going to dig through Cullen’s belongings in order to light the candles, he may as well start with the already open drawer. He dropped to his knees and pulled the drawer completely open revealing a multitude of gathered papers, each group sewn together with thin twine. Rylen’s curiosity finally got the better of him and he pulled out one group of papers. The front page had a large, looping script that most certainly wasn’t Cullen’s and on it was written, “Geraldine, Kirkwall. 9:30 Dragon,” He took out another. This one had the same looping script, but read, “Sammeth, Hasmal, 9:11 Dragon.” Each group had another name, another place, and another date. After seven or eight groups, he pulled a familiar name, “Lily, Starkhaven, 9:31 Dragon.”  
He’d never realized she hailed from Starkhaven; any accent she’d had must’ve been washed away by her years at the Circle. According to the date on her file, she’d only been…six when she arrived. The same as Lenora. Desperate for more information, anything to help fill the void that Lenora had left behind, he opened her file and read by the light of the dying lantern.  
Rylen couldn’t believe the breadth of information gathered on Lily—and presumably the other mages. Her file had everything from where and when she was born to how her magic first appeared. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he froze as he heard footsteps in the hall. They grew louder and he feared the knock on the door, but it never came. Instead, the footsteps began to recede in the other direction. Once Rylen’s heartbeat calmed, he resumed reading. Lily had lived with her mother and two non-magical older sisters, her father had died of wasting sickness shortly after she was born. After his death, Lily’s entire family moved into a Chantry-owned boarding home for the family of Mothers of the Chantry.  
          Rylen’s brow crinkled. Lily had grown up in the Chantry, had been raised by a Chantry Mother. Lily’s lack of contempt for Templars, despite all she’d endured, fell into place. Maker, at times it seemed like Rylen hated the Templars more than Lily did. Without her father, Lily and her sisters wouldn’t have had anyone else looking out for them. A deep ache ran through him, a visceral wish that he could change the past for her. A little girl should never have to grow up without a father. Lenora always had him, even in the Circle. But who did Lily have?  
He turned the page in the file and began to read about Lily’s magic emergence, a series of ghostly phenomena followed by a fire of some kind. But before he could gather many details, Rylen heard running footsteps thundering down the hall and the door to Cullen’s quarters burst open, scattering pages and files everywhere. Stannis stood in the doorway, doubled over, holding his side.  
          “Come! Quickly!” He panted.  
          “Heavens above, man. What’s wrong now?” Rylen demanded while gathering as many files as he could and attempting to shove them back into the drawer, but they wouldn’t fit.  
          “There’s a—” Stannis clutched his side dramatically, “Augh, Maker’s balls, that hurts.”  
          Rylen took the opportunity to pull the drawer open even further. The files fit before, they’d have to fit now. Then he saw why the papers put up a fight. At the bottom of the drawer lay bottle upon bottle of unused Lyrium, a whole stockpile. Why would Cu—  
          “There’s a dwarf in the Circle!”  
          Rylen whirled back to Stannis, the thoughts of Lyrium all but forgotten. “A what?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I was auditing a Creative Writing course.  
> Upon realizing some of the things I'd done wrong from the beginning, it was difficult to continue.  
> HOWEVER, it only made me more excited for Part 2 of Unharrowed, so I hope you'll stick around and see what's in store :)


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